THE CRAIG KENNEDY SERIES

THE DREAM DOCTOR

BY ARTHUR B. REEVE

FRONTISPIECE BY WILL FOSTER

Contents

CHAPTER

 I The Dream Doctor

 II The Soul Analysis

 III The Sybarite

 IV The Beauty Shop

 V The Phantom Circuit

 VI The Detectaphone

 VII The Green Curse

 VIII The Mummy Case

 IX The Elixir of Life

 X The Toxin of Death

 XI The Opium Joint

 XII The "Dope Trust"

 XIII The Kleptomaniac

 XIV The Crimeometer

 XV The Vampire

 XVI The Blood Test

 XVII The Bomb Maker

XVIII The "Coke" Fiend

 XIX The Submarine Mystery

 XX The Wireless Detector

 XXI The Ghouls

 XXII The X-Ray "Movies"

XXIII The Death House

 XXIV The Final Day

THE DREAM DOCTOR

I

THE DREAM DOCTOR

"Jameson, I want you to get the real story about that friend ofyours, Professor Kennedy, " announced the managing editor of theStar, early one afternoon when I had been summoned into thesanctum. 

From a batch of letters that had accumulated in the litter on thetop of his desk, he selected one and glanced over it hurriedly. 

"For instance, " he went on reflectively, "here's a letter from aConstant Reader who asks, 'Is this Professor Craig Kennedy reallyall that you say he is, and, if so, how can I find out about hisnew scientific detective method?'"

He paused and tipped back his chair. 

"Now, I don't want to file these letters in the waste basket. Whenpeople write letters to a newspaper, it means something. I mightreply, in this case, that he is as real as science, as real as thefight of society against the criminal. But I want to do more thanthat. "

The editor had risen, as if shaking himself momentarily loose fromthe ordinary routine of the office. 

"You get me?" he went on, enthusiastically, "In other words, yourassignment, Jameson, for the next month is to do nothing exceptfollow your friend Kennedy. Start in right now, on the first, andcross-section out of his life just one month, an average month. Take things just as they come, set them down just as they happen, and when you get through give me an intimate picture of the manand his work. "

He picked up the schedule for the day and I knew that theinterview was at an end. I was to "get" Kennedy. 

Often I had written snatches of Craig's adventures, but neverbefore anything as ambitious as this assignment, for a wholemonth. At first it staggered me. But the more I thought about it, the better I liked it. 

I hastened uptown to the apartment on the Heights which Kennedyand I had occupied for some time. I say we occupied it. We did soduring those hours when he was not at his laboratory at theChemistry Building on the University campus, or working on one ofthose cases which fascinated him. Fortunately, he happened to bethere as I burst in upon him. 

"Well?" he queried absently, looking up from a book, one of thelatest untranslated treatises on the new psychology from the penof the eminent scientist, Dr. Freud of Vienna, "what brings youuptown so early?"

Briefly as I could, I explained to him what it was that I proposedto do. He listened without comment and I rattled on, determinednot to allow him to negative it. 

"And, " I added, warming up to the subject, "I think I owe a debtof gratitude to the managing editor. He has crystallised in mymind an idea that has long been latent. Why, Craig, " I went on, "that is exactly what you want--to show people how they can neverhope to beat the modern scientific detective, to show that thecrime-hunters have gone ahead faster even than--"

The telephone tinkled insistently. 

Without a word, Kennedy motioned to me to "listen in" on theextension on my desk, which he had placed there as a precaution sothat I could corroborate any conversation that took place over ourwire. 

His action was quite enough to indicate to me that, at least, hehad no objection to the plan. 

"This is Dr. Leslie--the coroner. Can you come to the MunicipalHospital--right away?"

"Right away, Doctor, " answered Craig, hanging up the receiver. "Walter, you'll come, too?"

A quarter of an hour later we were in the courtyard of the city'slargest hospital. In the balmy sunshine the convalescing patientswere sitting on benches or slowly trying their strength, walkingover the grass, clad in faded hospital bathrobes. 

We entered the office and quickly were conducted by an orderly toa little laboratory in a distant wing. 

"What's the matter?" asked Craig, as we hurried along. 

"I don't know exactly, " replied the man, "except that it seemsthat Price Maitland, the broker, you know, was picked up on thestreet and brought here dying. He died before the doctors couldrelieve him. "

Dr. Leslie was waiting impatiently for us. "What do you make ofthat, Professor Kennedy?"

The coroner spread out on the table before us a folded half-sheetof typewriting and searched Craig's face eagerly to see whatimpression it made on him. 

"We found it stuffed in Maitland's outside coat pocket, " heexplained. 

It was dateless and brief:

Dearest Madeline:

May God in his mercy forgive me for what I am about to do. I havejust seen Dr. Ross. He has told me the nature of your illness. Icannot bear to think that I am the cause, so I am going simply todrop out of your life. I cannot live with you, and I cannot livewithout you. Do not blame me. Always think the best you can of me, even if you could not give me all. Good-bye. 

Your distracted husband, PRICE. 

At once the idea flashed over me that Maitland had found himselfsuffering from some incurable disease and had taken the quickestmeans of settling his dilemma. 

Kennedy looked up suddenly from the note. 

"Do you think it was a suicide?" asked the coroner. 

"Suicide?" Craig repeated. "Suicides don't usually write ontypewriters. A hasty note scrawled on a sheet of paper intrembling pen or pencil, that is what they usually leave. No, someone tried to escape the handwriting experts this way. "

"Exactly my idea' agreed Dr. Leslie, with evident satisfaction. "Now listen. Maitland was conscious almost up to the last moment, and yet the hospital doctors tell me they could not get a syllableof an ante-mortem statement from him. "

"You mean he refused to talk?" I asked. 

"No, " he replied; "it was more perplexing than that Even if thepolice had not made the usual blunder of arresting him forintoxication instead of sending him immediately to the hospital, it would have made no difference. The doctors simply could nothave saved him, apparently. For the truth is, Professor Kennedy, we don't even know what was the matter with him. "

Dr. Leslie seemed much excited by the case, as well he might be. 

"Maitland was found reeling and staggering on Broadway thismorning, " continued the coroner. "Perhaps the policeman was notreally at fault at first for arresting him, but before the wagoncame Maitland was speechless and absolutely unable to move amuscle. "

Dr. Leslie paused as he recited the strange facts, then resumed:"His eyes reacted, all right. He seemed to want to speak, towrite, but couldn't. A frothy saliva dribbled from his mouth, buthe could not frame a word. He was paralysed, and his breathing waspeculiar. They then hurried him to the hospital as soon as theycould. But it was of no use. "

Kennedy was regarding the doctor keenly as he proceeded. Dr. Leslie paused again to emphasise what he was about to say. 

"Here is another strange thing. It may or may not be ofimportance, but it is strange, nevertheless. Before Maitland diedthey sent for his wife. He was still conscious when she reachedthe hospital, could recognise her, seemed to want to speak, butcould neither talk nor move. It was pathetic. She was grief-stricken, of course. But she did not faint. She is not of thefainting kind. It was what she said that impressed everyone. 'Iknew it--I knew it, ' she cried. She had dropped on her knees bythe side of the bed. 'I felt it. Only the other night I had thehorrible dream. I saw him in a terrific struggle. I could not seewhat it was--it seemed to be an invisible thing. I ran to him--then the scene shifted. I saw a funeral procession, and in thecasket I could see through the wood--his face--oh, it was awarning! It has come true. I feared it, even though I knew it wasonly a dream. Often I have had the dream of that funeralprocession and always I saw the same face, his face. Oh, it ishorrible--terrible!'"

It was evident that Dr. Leslie at least was impressed by thedream. 

"What have you done since?" asked Craig. 

"I have turned loose everyone I could find available, " replied Dr. Leslie, handing over a sheaf of reports. 

Kennedy glanced keenly over them as they lay spread out on thetable. "I should like to see the body, " he said, at length. 

It was lying in the next room, awaiting Dr. Leslie's permission tobe removed. 

"At first, " explained the doctor, leading the way, "we thought itmight be a case of knock-out drops, chloral, you know--or perhapschloral and whiskey, a combination which might unite to makechloroform in the blood. But no. We have tested for everything wecan think of. In fact there seems to be no trace of a drugpresent. It is inexplicable. If Maitland really committed suicide, he must have taken SOMETHING--and as far as we can find out thereis no trace of anything. As far as we have gone we have alwaysbeen forced back to the original idea that it was a natural death--perhaps due to shock of some kind, or organic weakness. "

Kennedy had thoughtfully raised one of the lifeless hands and wasexamining it. 

"Not that, " he corrected. "Even if the autopsy shows nothing, itdoesn't prove that it was a natural death. Look!"

On the back of the hand was a tiny, red, swollen mark. Dr. Leslieregarded it with pursed-up lips as though not knowing whether itwas significant or not. 

"The tissues seemed to be thickly infiltrated with a reddish serumand the blood-vessels congested, " he remarked slowly. "There was afrothy mucus in the bronchial tubes. The blood was liquid, dark, and didn't clot. The fact of the matter is that the autopsicalresearch revealed absolutely nothing but a general disorganisationof the blood-corpuscles, a most peculiar thing, but one thesignificance of which none of us here can fathom. If it was poisonthat he took or that had been given to him, it was the mostsubtle, intangible, elusive, that ever came to my knowledge. Why, there is absolutely no trace or clue--"

"Nor any use in looking for one in that way, " broke in Kennedydecisively. "If we are to make any progress in this case, we mustlook elsewhere than to an autopsy. There is no clue beyond whatyou have found, if I am right. And I think I am right. It was thevenom of the cobra. "

"Cobra venom?" repeated the coroner, glancing up at a row oftechnical works. 

"Yes. No, it's no use trying to look it up. There is no way ofverifying a case of cobra poisoning except by the symptoms. It isnot like any other poisoning in the world. "

Dr. Leslie and I looked at each other, aghast at the thought of apoison so subtle that it defied detection. 

"You think he was bitten by a snake?" I blurted out, halfincredulous. 

"Oh, Walter, on Broadway? No, of course not. But cobra venom has amedicinal value. It is sent here in small quantities for variousmedicinal purposes. Then, too, it would be easy to use it. Ascratch on the hand in the passing crowd, a quick shoving of theletter into the pocket of the victim--and the murderer wouldprobably think to go undetected. "

We stood dismayed at the horror of such a scientific murder andthe meagreness of the materials to work on in tracing it out. 

"That dream was indeed peculiar, " ruminated Craig, before we hadreally grasped the import of his quick revelation. 

"You don't mean to say that you attach any importance to a dream?"I asked hurriedly, trying to follow him. 

Kennedy merely shrugged his shoulders, but I could see plainlyenough that he did. 

"You haven't given this letter out to the press?" he asked. 

"Not yet, " answered Dr. Leslie. 

"Then don't, until I say to do so. I shall need to keep it. "

The cab in which we had come to the hospital was still waiting. "We must see Mrs. Maitland first, " said Kennedy, as we left thenonplused coroner and his assistants. 

The Maitlands lived, we soon found, in a large old-fashionedbrownstone house just off Fifth Avenue. 

Kennedy's card with the message that it was very urgent brought usin as far as the library, where we sat for a moment looking aroundat the quiet refinement of a more than well-to-do home. 

On a desk at one end of the long room was a typewriter. Kennedyrose. There was not a sound of any one in either the hallway orthe adjoining rooms. A moment later he was bending quietly overthe typewriter in the corner, running off a series of characterson a sheet of paper. A sound of a closing door upstairs, and hequickly jammed the paper into his pocket, retraced his steps, andwas sitting quietly opposite me again. 

Mrs. Maitland was a tall, perfectly formed woman of baffling age, but with the impression of both youth and maturity which was veryfascinating. She was calmer now, and although she seemed to be ofanything but a hysterical nature, it was quite evident that hernervousness was due to much more than the shock of the recenttragic event, great as that must have been. It may have been thatI recalled the words of the note, "Dr. Ross has told me the natureof your illness, " but I fancied that she had been suffering fromsome nervous trouble. 

"There is no use prolonging our introduction, Mrs. Maitland, "began Kennedy. "We have called because the authorities are not yetfully convinced that Mr. Maitland committed suicide. "

It was evident that she had seen the note, at least. "Not asuicide?" she repeated, looking from one to the other of us. 

"Mr. Masterson on the wire, ma'am, " whispered a maid. "Do you wishto speak to him? He begged to say that he did not wish to intrude, but he felt that if there--"

"Yes, I will talk to him--in my room, " she interrupted. 

I thought that there was just a trace of well-concealed confusion, as she excused herself. 

We rose. Kennedy did not resume his seat immediately. Without aword or look he completed his work at the typewriter byabstracting several blank sheets of paper from the desk. 

A few moments later Mrs. Maitland returned, calmer. 

"In his note, " resumed Kennedy, "he spoke of Dr. Ross and--"

"Oh, " she cried, "can't you see Dr. Ross about it? Really I--Ioughtn't to be--questioned in this way--not now, so soon afterwhat I've had to go through. "

It seemed that her nerves were getting unstrung again. Kennedyrose to go. 

"Later, come to see me, " she pleaded. "But now--you must realise--it is too much. I cannot talk--I cannot. "

"Mr. Maitland had no enemies that you know of?" asked Kennedy, determined to learn something now, at least. 

"No, no. None that would--do that. "

"You had had no quarrel?" he added. 

"No--we never quarrelled. Oh, Price--why did you? How could you?"

Her feelings were apparently rapidly getting the better of her. Kennedy bowed, and we withdrew silently. He had learned one thing. She believed or wanted others to believe in the note. 

At a public telephone, a few minutes later, Kennedy was runningover the names in the telephone book. "Let me see--here's anArnold Masterson, " he considered. Then turning the pages he wenton, "Now we must find this Dr. Ross. There--Dr. Sheldon Ross--specialist in nerve diseases--that must be the one. He lives onlya few blocks further uptown. "

Handsome, well built, tall, dignified, in fact distinguished, Dr. Ross proved to be a man whose very face and manner were magnetic, as should be those of one who had chosen his branch of theprofession. 

"You have heard, I suppose, of the strange death of PriceMaitland?" began Kennedy when we were seated in the doctor'soffice. 

"Yes, about an hour ago. " It was evident that he was studying us. 

"Mrs. Maitland, I believe, is a patient of yours?"

"Yes, Mrs. Maitland is one of my patients, " he admittedinterrogatively. Then, as if considering that Kennedy's manner wasnot to be mollified by anything short of a show of confidence, headded: "She came to me several months ago. I have had her undertreatment for nervous trouble since then, without a markedimprovement. "

"And Mr. Maitland, " asked Kennedy, "was he a patient, too?"

"Mr. Maitland, " admitted the doctor with some reticence, "hadcalled on me this morning, but no, he was not a patient. "

"Did you notice anything unusual?"

"He seemed to be much worried, " Dr. Ross replied guardedly. 

Kennedy took the suicide note from his pocket and handed it tohim. 

"I suppose you have heard of this?" asked Craig. 

The doctor read it hastily, then looked up, as if measuring fromKennedy's manner just how much he knew. "As nearly as I could makeout, " he said slowly, his reticence to outward appearance gone, "Maitland seemed to have something on his mind. He came inquiringas to the real cause of his wife's nervousness. Before I hadtalked to him long I gathered that he had a haunting fear that shedid not love him any more, if ever. I fancied that he even doubtedher fidelity. "

I wondered why the doctor was talking so freely, now, in contrastwith his former secretiveness. 

"Do you think he was right?" shot out Kennedy quickly, eying Dr. Ross keenly. 

"No, emphatically, no; he was not right, " replied the doctor, meeting Craig's scrutiny without flinching. "Mrs. Maitland, " hewent on more slowly as if carefully weighing every word, "belongsto a large and growing class of women in whom, to speak frankly, sex seems to be suppressed. She is a very handsome and attractivewoman--you have seen her? Yes? You must have noticed, though, thatshe is really frigid, cold, intellectual. "

The doctor was so sharp and positive about his first statement andso careful in phrasing the second that I, at least, jumped to theconclusion that Maitland might have been right, after all. Iimagined that Kennedy, too, had his suspicions of the doctor. 

"Have you ever heard of or used cobra venom in any of your medicalwork?" he asked casually. 

Dr. Ross wheeled in his chair, surprised. 

"Why, yes, " he replied quickly. "You know that it is a test forblood diseases, one of the most recently discovered and usedparallel to the old tests. It is known as the Weil cobra-venomtest. "

"Do you use it often?"

"N--no, " he replied. "My practice ordinarily does not lie in thatdirection. I used it not long ago, once, though. I have a patientunder my care, a well-known club-man. He came to me originally--"

"Arnold Masterson?" asked Craig. 

"Yes--how did you know his name?"

"Guessed it, " replied Craig laconically, as if he knew much morethan he cared to tell. "He was a friend of Mrs. Maitland's, was henot?"

"I should say not, " replied Dr. Ross, without hesitation. He wasquite ready to talk without being urged. "Ordinarily, " heexplained confidentially, "professional ethics seals my lips, butin this instance, since you seem to know so much, I may as welltell more. "

I hardly knew whether to take him at his face value or not. Stillhe went on: "Mrs. Maitland is, as I have hinted at, what wespecialists would call a consciously frigid but unconsciouslypassionate woman. As an intellectual woman she suppresses nature. But nature does and will assert herself, we believe. Often youwill find an intellectual woman attracted unreasonably to a purelyphysical man--I mean, speaking generally, not in particular cases. You have read Ellen Key, I presume? Well, she expresses it well insome of the things she has written about affinities. Now, don'tmisunderstand me, " he cautioned. "I am speaking generally, not ofthis individual case. "

I was following Dr. Ross closely. When he talked so, he was a mostfascinating man. 

"Mrs. Maitland, " he resumed, "has been much troubled by herdreams, as you have heard, doubtless. The other day she told me ofanother dream. In it she seemed to be attacked by a bull, whichsuddenly changed into a serpent. I may say that I had asked her tomake a record of her dreams, as well as other data, which Ithought might be of use in the study and treatment of her nervoustroubles. I readily surmised that not the dream, but somethingelse, perhaps some recollection which it recalled, worried her. Bycareful questioning I discovered that it was--a brokenengagement. "

"Yes, " prompted Kennedy. 

"The bull-serpent, she admitted, had a half-human face--the faceof Arnold Masterson!"

Was Dr. Ross desperately shifting suspicion from himself? I asked. 

"Very strange--very, " ruminated Kennedy. "That reminds me again. Iwonder if you could let me have a sample of this cobra venom?"

"Surely. Excuse me; I'll get you some. "

The doctor had scarcely shut the door when Kennedy began prowlingaround quietly. In the waiting-room, which was now deserted, stooda typewriter. 

Quickly Craig ran over the keys of the machine until he had asample of every character. Then he reached into drawer of the deskand hastily stuffed several blank sheets of paper into his pocket. 

"Of course I need hardly caution you in handling this, " remarkedDr. Ross, as he returned. "You are as well acquainted as I am withthe danger attending its careless and unscientific uses. " "I am, and I thank you very much, " said Kennedy. 

We were standing in the waiting-room. 

"You will keep me advised of any progress you make in the case?"the doctor asked. "It complicates, as you can well imagine, mytreatment of Mrs. Maitland. "

"I shall be glad to do so, " replied Kennedy, as we departed. 

An hour later found us in a handsomely appointed bachelorapartment in a fashionable hotel overlooking the lower entrance tothe Park. 

"Mr. Masterson, I believe?" inquired Kennedy, as a slim, debonair, youngish-old man entered the room in which we had been waiting. 

"I am that same, " he smiled. "To what am I indebted for thispleasure?"

We had been gazing at the various curios with which he had madethe room a veritable den of the connoisseur. 

"You have evidently travelled considerably, " remarked Kennedy, avoiding the question for the time. 

"Yes, I have been back in this country only a few weeks, "Masterson replied, awaiting the answer to the first question. 

"I called, " proceeded Kennedy, "in the hope that you, Mr. Masterson, might be able to shed some light on the rather peculiarcase of Mr. Maitland, of whose death, I suppose, you have alreadyheard. "

"I?"

"You have known Mrs. Maitland a long time?" ignored Kennedy. 

"We went to school together. "

"And were engaged, were you not?"

Masterson looked at Kennedy in ill-concealed surprise. 

"Yes. But how did you know that? It was a secret--only between ustwo--I thought. She broke it off--not I. "

"She broke off the engagement?" prompted Kennedy. 

"Yes--a story about an escapade of mine and all that sort ofthing, you know--but, by Jove! I like your nerve, sir. " Mastersonfrowned, then added: "I prefer not to talk of that. There are someincidents in a man's life, particularly where a woman isconcerned, that are forbidden. "

"Oh, I beg pardon, " hastened Kennedy, "but, by the way, you wouldhave no objection to making a statement regarding your trip abroadand your recent return to this country--subsequent to--ah--theincident which we will not refer to?"

"None whatever. I left New York in 1908, disgusted with everythingin general, and life here in particular--"

"Would you object to jotting it down so that I can get itstraight?" asked Kennedy. "Just a brief resume, you know. "

"No. Have you a pen or a pencil?"

"I think you might as well dictate it; it will take only a minuteto run it off on the typewriter. "

Masterson rang the bell. A young man appeared noiselessly. 

"Wix, " he said, "take this: 'I left New York in 1908, travellingon the Continent, mostly in Paris, Vienna, and Rome. Latterly Ihave lived in London, until six weeks ago, when I returned to NewYork. ' Will that serve?"

"Yes, perfectly, " said Kennedy, as he folded up the sheet of paperwhich the young secretary handed to him. "Thank you. I trust youwon't consider it an impertinence if I ask you whether you wereaware that Dr. Ross was Mrs. Maitland's physician?"

"Of course I knew it, " Masterson replied frankly. "I have givenhim up for that reason, although he does not know it yet. I moststrenuously object to being the subject of--what shall I call it?--his mental vivisection. "

"Do you think he oversteps his position in trying to learn of themental life of his patients?" queried Craig. 

"I would rather say nothing further on that, either, " repliedMasterson. "I was talking over the wire to Mrs. Maitland a fewmoments ago, giving her my condolences and asking if there wasanything I could do for her immediately, just as I would have donein the old days--only then, of course, I should have gone to herdirectly. The reason I did not go, but telephoned, was becausethis Ross seems to have put some ridiculous notions into her headabout me. Now, look here; I don't want to discuss this. I've toldyou more than I intended, anyway. "

Masterson had risen. His suavity masked a final determination tosay no more. 

II

The Soul Analysis

The day was far advanced after this series of very unsatisfactoryinterviews. I looked at Kennedy blankly. We seemed to haveuncovered so little that was tangible that I was much surprised tofind that apparently he was well contented with what had happenedin the case so far. 

"I shall be busy for a few hours in the laboratory, Walter, " heremarked, as we parted at the subway. "I think, if you havenothing better to do, that you might employ the time in looking upsome of the gossip about Mrs. Maitland and Masterson, to saynothing of Dr. Ross, " he emphasised. "Drop in after dinner. "

There was not much that I could find. Of Mrs. Maitland there waspractically nothing that I already did not know from having seenher name in the papers. She was a leader in a certain set whichwas devoting its activities to various social and moralpropaganda. Masterson's early escapades were notorious even in theyounger smart set in which he had moved, but his years abroad hadmellowed the recollection of them. He had not distinguishedhimself in any way since his return to set gossip afloat, nor hadany tales of his doings abroad filtered through to New Yorkclubland. Dr. Ross, I found to my surprise, was rather betterknown than I had supposed, both as a specialist and as a man abouttown. He seemed to have risen rapidly in his profession asphysician to the ills of society's nerves. 

I was amazed after dinner to find Kennedy doing nothing at all. 

"What's the matter?" I asked. "Have you struck a snag?"

"No, " he replied slowly, "I was only waiting. I told them to behere between half-past eight and nine. "

"Who?" I queried. 

"Dr. Leslie, " he answered. "He has the authority to compel theattendance of Mrs. Maitland, Dr. Ross, and Masterson. "

The quickness with which he had worked out a case which was, tome, one of the most inexplicable he had had for a long time, leftme standing speechless. 

One by one they dropped in during the next half-hour, and, asusual, it fell to me to receive them and smooth over the roughedges which always obtruded at these little enforced parties inthe laboratory. 

Dr. Leslie and Dr. Ross were the first to arrive. They had notcome together, but had met at the door. I fancied I saw a touch ofprofessional jealousy in their manner, at least on the part of Dr. Ross. Masterson came, as usual ignoring the seriousness of thematter and accusing us all of conspiring to keep him from thefirst night of a light opera which was opening. Mrs. Maitlandfollowed, the unaccustomed pallor of her face heightened by theplain black dress. I felt most uncomfortable, as indeed I thinkthe rest did. She merely inclined her head to Masterson, seemedalmost to avoid the eye of Dr. Ross, glared at Dr. Leslie, andabsolutely ignored me. 

Craig had been standing aloof at his laboratory table, beyond anod of recognition paying little attention to anything. He seemedto be in no hurry to begin. 

"Great as science is, " he commenced, at length, "it is yet farremoved from perfection. There are, for instance, substances somysterious, subtle, and dangerous as to set the most delicatetests and powerful lenses at naught, while they carry death mosthorrible in their train. "

He could scarcely have chosen his opening words with more effect. 

"Chief among them, " he proceeded, "are those from nature's ownlaboratory. There are some sixty species of serpents, for example, with deadly venom. Among these, as you doubtless have all heard, none has brought greater terror to mankind than the cobra-di-capello, the Naja tripudians of India. It is unnecessary for me todescribe the cobra or to say anything about the countlessthousands who have yielded up their lives to it. I have here asmall quantity of the venom"--he indicated it in a glass beaker. "It was obtained in New York, and I have tested it on guinea-pigs. It has lost none of its potency. "

I fancied that there was a feeling of relief when Kennedy by hisactions indicated that he was not going to repeat the test. 

"This venom, " he continued, "dries in the air into a substancelike small scales, soluble in water but not in alcohol. It hasonly a slightly acrid taste and odour, and, strange to say, isinoffensive on the tongue or mucous surfaces, even in considerablequantities. All we know about it is that in an open wound it isdeadly swift in action. "

It was difficult to sit unmoved at the thought that before us, inonly a few grains of the stuff, was enough to kill us all if itwere introduced into a scratch of our skin. 

"Until recently chemistry was powerless to solve the enigma, themicroscope to detect its presence, or pathology to explain thereason for its deadly effect. And even now, about all we know isthat autopsical research reveals absolutely nothing but thegeneral disorganisation of the blood corpuscles. In fact, suchpoisoning is best known by the peculiar symptoms--the vertigo, weak legs, and falling jaw. The victim is unable to speak orswallow, but is fully sensible. He has nausea, paralysis, anaccelerated pulse at first followed rapidly by a weakening, withbreath slow and laboured. The pupils are contracted, but react tothe last, and he dies in convulsions like asphyxia. It is both ablood and a nerve poison. "

As Kennedy proceeded, Mrs. Maitland never took her large eyes fromhis face. 

Kennedy now drew from a large envelope in which he protected it, the typewritten note which had been found on Maitland. He saidnothing about the "suicide" as he quietly began a new line ofaccumulating evidence. 

"There is an increasing use of the typewriting machine for theproduction of spurious papers, " he began, rattling the notesignificantly. "It is partly due to the great increase in the useof the typewriter generally, but more than all is it due to theerroneous idea that fraudulent typewriting cannot be detected. Thefact is that the typewriter is perhaps a worse means of concealingidentity than is disguised handwriting. It does not afford theeffective protection to the criminal that is supposed. On thecontrary, the typewriting of a fraudulent document may be thedirect means by which it can be traced to its source. First wehave to determine what kind of machine a certain piece of writingwas done with, then what particular machine. "

He paused and indicated a number of little instruments on thetable. 

"For example, " he resumed, "the Lovibond tintometer tells me itsstory of the colour of the ink used in the ribbon of the machinethat wrote this note as well as several standard specimens which Ihave been able to obtain from three machines on which it mighthave been written. 

"That leads me to speak of the quality of the paper in this half-sheet that was found on Mr. Maitland. Sometimes such a half-sheetmay be mated with the other half from which it was torn asaccurately as if the act were performed before your eyes. Therewas no such good fortune in this case, but by measurements made bythe vernier micrometer caliper I have found the precise thicknessof several samples of paper as compared to that of the suicidenote. I need hardly add that in thickness and quality, as well asin the tint of the ribbon, the note points to person as theauthor. "

No one moved. 

"And there are other proofs--unescapable, " Kennedy hurried on. "For instance, I have counted the number of threads to the inch inthe ribbon, as shown by the letters of this note. That alsocorresponds to the number in one of the three ribbons. "

Kennedy laid down a glass plate peculiarly ruled in littlesquares. 

"This, " he explained, "is an alignment test plate, through whichcan be studied accurately the spacing and alignment of typewrittencharacters. There are in this pica type ten to the inchhorizontally and six to the inch vertically. That is usual. Perhaps you are not acquainted with the fact that typewrittencharacters are in line both ways, horizontally and vertically. There are nine possible positions for each character which may beassumed with reference to one of these little standard squares ofthe test plate. You cannot fail to appreciate what an immenseimpossibility there is that one machine should duplicate thevariations out of the true which the microscope detects forseveral characters on another. 

"Not only that, but the faces of many letters inevitably becomebroken, worn, battered, as well as out of alignment, or slightlyshifted in their position on the type bar. The type faces are notflat, but a little concave to conform to the roller. There arethousands of possible divergences, scars, and deformities in eachmachine. 

"Such being the case, " he concluded, "typewriting has anindividuality like that of the Bertillon system, finger-prints, orthe portrait parle. "

He paused, then added quickly: "What machine was it in this case?I have samples here from that of Dr. Boss, from a machine used byMr. Masterson's secretary, and from a machine which was accessibleto both Mr. And Mrs. Maitland. "

Kennedy stopped, but he was not yet prepared to relieve thesuspense of two of those whom his investigation would absolve. 

"Just one other point, " he resumed mercilessly, "a point which afew years ago would have been inexplicable--if not positivelymisleading and productive of actual mistake. I refer to the dreamsof Mrs. Maitland. "

I had been expecting it, yet the words startled me. What must theyhave done to her? But she kept admirable control of herself. 

"Dreams used to be treated very seriously by the ancients, butuntil recently modern scientists, rejecting the ideas of the darkages, have scouted dreams. To-day, however, we study themscientifically, for we believe that whatever is, has a reason. Dr. Ross, I think, is acquainted with the new and remarkable theoriesof Dr. Sigmund Freud, of Vienna?"

Dr. Ross nodded. "I dissent vigorously from some of Freud'sconclusions, " he hastened. 

"Let me state them first, " resumed Craig. "Dreams, says Freud, arevery important. They give us the most reliable informationconcerning the individual. But that is only possible"--Kennedyemphasised the point--"if the patient is in entire rapport withthe doctor. 

"Now, the dream is not an absurd and senseless jumble, but aperfect mechanism and has a definite meaning in penetrating themind. It is as though we had two streams of thought, one of whichwe allow to flow freely, the other of which we are constantlyrepressing, pushing back into the subconscious, or unconscious. This matter of the evolution of our individual mental life is toolong a story to bore you with at such a critical moment. 

"But the resistances, the psychic censors of our ideas, are alwaysactive, except in sleep. Then the repressed material comes to thesurface. But the resistances never entirely lose their power, andthe dream shows the material distorted. Seldom does one recognisehis own repressed thoughts or unattained wishes. The dream reallyis the guardian of sleep to satisfy the activity of theunconscious and repressed mental processes that would otherwisedisturb sleep by keeping the censor busy. In the case of anightmare the watchman or censor is aroused, finds himselfoverpowered, so to speak, and calls on consciousness for help. 

"There are three kinds of dreams--those which represent anunrepressed wish as fulfilled, those that represent therealisation of a repressed wish in an entirely concealed form, andthose that represent the realisation of a repressed wish in a forminsufficiently or only partially concealed. 

"Dreams are not of the future, but of the past, except as theyshow striving for unfulfilled wishes. Whatever may be denied inreality we nevertheless can realise in another way--in our dreams. And probably more of our daily life, conduct, moods, beliefs thanwe think, could be traced to preceding dreams. "

Dr. Ross was listening attentively, as Craig turned to him. "Thisis perhaps the part of Freud's theory from which you dissent moststrongly. Freud says that as soon as you enter the intimate lifeof a patient you begin to find sex in some form. In fact, the bestindication of abnormality would be its absence. Sex is one of thestrongest of human impulses, yet the one subjected to the greatestrepression. For that reason it is the weakest point in ourcultural development. In a normal life, he says, there are noneuroses. Let me proceed now with what the Freudists call thepsychanalysis, the soul analysis, of Mrs. Maitland. "

It was startling in the extreme to consider the possibilities towhich this new science might lead, as he proceeded to illustrateit. 

"Mrs. Maitland, " he continued, "your dream of fear was a dream ofwhat we call the fulfilment of a suppressed wish. Moreover, fearalways denotes a sexual idea underlying the dream. In fact, morbidanxiety means surely unsatisfied love. The old Greeks knew it. Thegods of fear were born of the goddess of love. Consciously youfeared the death of your husband because unconsciously you wishedit. "

It was startling, dramatic, cruel, perhaps, merciless--thisdissecting of the soul of the handsome woman before us; but it hadcome to a point where it was necessary to get at the truth. 

Mrs. Maitland, hitherto pale, was now flushed and indignant. Yetthe very manner of her indignation showed the truth of the newpsychology of dreams, for, as I learned afterward, people oftenbecome indignant when the Freudists strike what is called the"main complex. "

"There are other motives just as important, " protested Dr. Boss. "Here in America the money motive, ambition--"

"Let me finish, " interposed Kennedy. "I want to consider the otherdream also. Fear is equivalent to a wish in this sort of dream. Italso, as I have said, denotes sex. In dreams animals are usuallysymbols. Now, in this second dream we find both the bull and theserpent, from time immemorial, symbols of the continuing of thelife-force. Dreams are always based on experiences or thoughts ofthe day preceding the dreams. You, Mrs. Maitland, dreamed of aman's face on these beasts. There was every chance of having himsuggested to you. You think you hate him. Consciously you rejecthim; unconsciously you accept him. Any of the new psychologistswho knows the intimate connection between love and hate, wouldunderstand how that is possible. Love does not extinguish hate; orhate, love. They repress each other. The opposite sentiment mayvery easily grow. "

The situation was growing more tense as he proceeded. Was notKennedy actually taxing her with loving another?

"The dreamer, " he proceeded remorselessly, "is always theprincipal actor in a dream, or the dream centres about the dreamermost intimately. Dreams are personal. We never dream about mattersthat really concern others, but ourselves. 

"Years ago, " he continued, "you suffered what the newpsychologists call a 'psychic trauma'--a soul-wound. You wereengaged, but your censored consciousness rejected the manner oflife of your fiance. In pique you married Price Maitland. But younever lost your real, subconscious love for another. "

He stopped, then added in a low tone that was almost inaudible, yet which did not call for an answer, "Could you--be honest withyourself, for you need say not a word aloud--could you always besure of yourself in the face of any situation?"

She looked startled. Her ordinarily inscrutable face betrayedeverything, though it was averted from the rest of us and could beseen only by Kennedy. She knew the truth that she strove torepress; she was afraid of herself. 

"It is dangerous, " she murmured, "to be with a person who paysattention to such little things. If every one were like you, Iwould no longer breathe a syllable of my dreams. "

She was sobbing now. 

What was back of it all? I had heard of the so-called resolutiondreams. I had heard of dreams that kill, of unconscious murder, ofthe terrible acts of the subconscious somnambulist of which theactor has no recollection in the waking state until put underhypnotism. Was it that which Kennedy was driving at disclosing?

Dr. Ross moved nearer to Mrs. Maitland as if to reassure her. Craig was studying attentively the effect of his revelation bothon her and on the other faces before him. 

Mrs. Maitland, her shoulders bent with the outpouring of the long-suppressed emotion of the evening and of the tragic day, calledfor sympathy which, I could see, Craig would readily give when hehad reached the climax he had planned. 

"Kennedy, " exclaimed Masterson, pushing aside Dr. Ross, as hebounded to the side of Mrs. Maitland, unable to restrain himselflonger, "Kennedy, you are a faker--nothing but a damned dreamdoctor--in scientific disguise. "

"Perhaps, " replied Craig, with a quiet curl of the lip. "But thethreads of the typewriter ribbon, the alignment of the letters, the paper, all the 'fingerprints' of that type-written note ofsuicide were those of the machine belonging to the man who causedthe soul-wound, who knew Madeline Maitland's inmost heart betterthan herself--because he had heard of Freud undoubtedly, when hewas in Vienna--who knew that he held her real love still, whoposed as a patient of Dr. Ross to learn her secrets as well as tosecure the subtle poison of the cobra. That man, perhaps, merelybrushed against Price Maitland in the crowd, enough to scratch hishand with the needle, shove the false note into his pocket--anything to win the woman who he knew loved him, and whom he couldwin. Masterson, you are that man!"

The next half hour was crowded kaleidoscopically with events--thecall by Dr. Leslie for the police, the departure of the Coronerwith Masterson in custody, and the efforts of Dr. Ross to calm hisnow almost hysterical patient, Mrs. Maitland. 

Then a calm seemed to settle down over the old laboratory whichhad so often been the scene of such events, tense with humaninterest. I could scarcely conceal my amazement, as I watchedKennedy quietly restoring to their places the pieces of apparatushe had used. 

"What's the matter?" he asked, catching my eye as he paused withthe tintometer in his hand. 

"Why, " I exclaimed, "that's a fine way to start a month! Here'sjust one day gone and you've caught your man. Are you going tokeep that up? If you are--I'll quit and skip to February. I'llchoose the shortest month, if that's the pace!"

"Any month you please, " he smiled grimly, as he reluctantly placedthe tintometer in its cabinet. 

There was no use. I knew that any other month would have been justthe same. 

"Well, " I replied weakly, "all I can hope is that every day won'tbe as strenuous as this has been. I hope, at least, you will giveme time to make some notes before you start off again. "

"Can't say, " he answered, still busy returning paraphernalia toits accustomed place. "I have no control over the cases as theycome to me--except that I fan turn down those that don't interestme. "

"Then, " I sighed wearily, "turn down the next one. I must haverest. I'm going home to sleep. "

"Very well, " he said, making no move to follow me. 

I shook my head doubtfully. It was impossible to force a card onKennedy. Instead of showing any disposition to switch off thelaboratory lights, he appeared to be regarding a row of half-filled test-tubes with the abstraction of a man who has beeninterrupted in the midst of an absorbing occupation. 

"Good night, " I said at length. 

"Good night, " he echoed mechanically. 

I know that he slept that night--at least his bed had been sleptin when I awoke in the morning. But he was gone. But then, it wasnot unusual for him, when the fever for work was on him, toconsider even five or fewer hours a night's rest. It made nodifference when I argued with him. The fact that he thrived on ithimself and could justify it by pointing to other scientists wasrefutation enough. 

Slowly I dressed, breakfasted, and began transcribing what I couldfrom the hastily jotted down notes of the day before. I knew thatthe work, whatever it was, in which he was now engaged must be inthe nature of research, dear to his heart. Otherwise, he wouldhave left word for me. 

No word came from him, however, all day, and I had not only caughtup in my notes, but, my appetite whetted by our first case, hadbecome hungry for more. In fact I had begun to get a littleworried at the continued silence. A hand on the knob of the dooror a ring of the telephone would hare been a welcome relief. I wasgradually becoming aware of the fact that I liked the excitementof the life as much as Kennedy did. 

I knew it when the sudden sharp tinkle of the telephone set myheart throbbing almost as quickly as the little bell hammerbuzzed. 

"Jameson, for Heaven's sake find Kennedy immediately and bring himover here to the Novella Beauty Parlour. We've got the worst caseI've been up against in a long time. Dr. Leslie, the coroner, ishere, and says we must not make a move until Kennedy arrives. "

I doubt whether in all our long acquaintance I had ever heardFirst Deputy O'Connor more wildly excited and apparently morehelpless than he seemed over the telephone that night. 

"What is it?" I asked. 

"Never mind, never mind. Find Kennedy, " he called back almostbrusquely. "It's Miss Blanche Blaisdell, the actress--she's beenfound dead here. The thing is an absolute mystery. Now get him, GET HIM. "

It was still early in the evening, and Kennedy had not come in, nor had he sent any word to our apartment. O'Connor had alreadytried the laboratory. As for myself, I had not the slightest ideawhere Craig was. I knew the case must be urgent if both the deputyand the coroner were waiting for him. Still, after half an hour'svigorous telephoning, I was unable to find a trace of Kennedy inany of his usual haunts. 

In desperation I left a message for him with the hall-boy in casehe called up, jumped into a cab, and rode over to the laboratory, hoping that some of the care-takers might still be about and mightknow something of his whereabouts. The janitor was able toenlighten me to the extent of telling me that a big limousine hadcalled for Kennedy an hour or so before, and that he had left ingreat haste. 

I had given it up as hopeless and had driven back to the apartmentto wait for him, when the hall-boy made a rush at me just as I waspaying my fare. 

"Mr. Kennedy on the wire, sir, " he cried as he half dragged meinto the hall. 

"Walter, " almost shouted Kennedy, "I'm over at the WashingtonHeights Hospital with Dr. Barron--you remember Barron, in ourclass at college? He has a very peculiar case of a poor girl whomhe found wandering on the street and brought here. Most unusualthing. He came over to the laboratory after me in his car. Yes, Ihave the message that you left with the hall-boy. Come up here andpick me up, and we'll ride right down to the Novella. Goodbye. "

I had not stopped to ask questions and prolong the conversation, knowing as I did the fuming impatience of O'Connor. It was reliefenough to know that Kennedy was located at last. 

He was in the psychopathic ward with Barron, as I hurried in. Thegirl whom he had mentioned over the telephone was then quietlysleeping under the influence of an opiate, and they werediscussing the case outside in the hall. 

"What do you think of it yourself?" Barron was asking, nodding tome to join them. Then he added for my enlightenment: "I found thisgirl wandering bareheaded in the street. To tell the truth, Ithought at first that she was intoxicated, but a good look showedme better than that. So I hustled the poor thing into my car andbrought her here. All the way she kept crying over and over:'Look, don't you see it? She's afire! Her lips shine--they shine, they shine. ' I think the girl is demented and has had somehallucination. "

"Too vivid for a hallucination, " remarked Kennedy decisively. "Itwas too real to her. Even the opiate couldn't remove the picture, whatever it was, from her mind until you had given her almostenough to kill her, normally. No, that wasn't any hallucination. Now, Walter, I'm ready. "

III

THE SYBARITE

We found the Novella Beauty Parlour on the top floor of an office-building just off Fifth Avenue on a side street not far fromForty-second Street. A special elevator, elaborately fitted up, wafted us up with express speed. As the door opened we saw a vistaof dull-green lattices, little gateways hung with roses, windowsof diamond-paned glass get in white wood, rooms with little whiteenamelled manicure-tables and chairs, amber lights glowing withsoft incandescence in deep bowers of fireproof tissue flowers. There was a delightful warmth about the place, and the seductivescents and delicate odours betokened the haunt of the twentieth-century Sybarite. 

Both O'Connor and Leslie, strangely out of place in the enervatingluxury of the now deserted beauty-parlour, were still waiting forKennedy with a grim determination. 

"A most peculiar thing, " whispered O'Connor, dashing forward themoment the elevator door opened. "We can't seem to find a singlecause for her death. The people up here say it was a suicide, butI never accept the theory of suicide unless there are undoubtedproofs. So far there have been none in this case. There was noreason for it. "

Seated in one of the large easy-chairs of the reception-room, in acorner with two of O'Connor's men standing watchfully near, was aman who was the embodiment of all that was nervous. He wasalternately wringing his hands and rumpling his hair. Beside himwas a middle-sized, middle-aged lady in a most amazing state ofpreservation, who evidently presided over the cosmetic mysteriesbeyond the male ken. She was so perfectly groomed that she lookedas though her clothes were a mould into which she had literallybeen poured. 

"Professor and Madame Millefleur--otherwise Miller, "--whisperedO'Connor, noting Kennedy's questioning gaze and taking his arm tohurry him down a long, softly carpeted corridor, flanked on eitherside by little doors. "They run the shop. They say one of thegirls just opened the door and found her dead. "

Near the end, one of the doors stood open, and before it Dr. Leslie, who had preceded us, paused. He motioned to us to look in. It was a little dressing-room, containing a single white-enamelledbed, a dresser, and a mirror. But it was not the scant thoughelegant furniture that caused us to start back. 

There under the dull half-light of the corridor lay a woman, mostsuperbly formed. She was dark, and the thick masses of her hair, ready for the hairdresser, fell in a tangle over her beautifullychiselled features and full, rounded shoulders and neck. A scarletbathrobe, loosened at the throat, actually accentuated rather thancovered the voluptuous lines of her figure, down to the slenderankle which had been the beginning of her fortune as a danseuse. 

Except for the marble pallor of her face it was difficult tobelieve that she was not sleeping. And yet there she was, thefamous Blanche Blaisdell, dead--dead in the little dressing-roomof the Novella Beauty Parlour, surrounded as in life by mysteryand luxury. 

We stood for several moments speechless, stupefied. At lastO'Connor silently drew a letter from his pocket. It was written onthe latest and most delicate of scented stationery. 

"It was lying sealed on the dresser when we arrived, " explainedO'Connor, holding it so that we could not see the address. "Ithought at first she had really committed suicide and that thiswas a note of explanation. But it is not. Listen. It is just aline or two. It reads: 'Am feeling better now, though that was agreat party last night. Thanks for the newspaper puff which I havejust read. It was very kind of you to get them to print it. Meetme at the same place and same time to-night. Your Blanche. ' Thenote was not stamped, and was never sent. Perhaps she rang for amessenger. At any rate, she must have been dead before she couldsend it. But it was addressed to--Burke Collins. "

"Burke Collins!" exclaimed Kennedy and I together in amazement. 

He was one of the leading corporation lawyers in the country, director in a score of the largest companies, officer in half adozen charities and social or ganisations, patron of art andopera. It seemed impossible, and I at least did not hesitate tosay so. For answer O'Connor simply laid the letter and envelopedown on the dresser. 

It seemed to take some time to convince Kennedy. There it was inblack and white, however, in Blanche Blaisdell's own verticalhand. Try to figure it out as I could, there seemed to be only oneconclusion, and that was to accept it. What it was that interestedhim I did not know, but finally he bent down and sniffed, not atthe scented letter, but at the covering on the dresser. When heraised his head I saw that he had not been looking at the letterat all, but at a spot on the cover near it. 

"Sn-ff, sn-ff, " he sniffed, thoughtfully closing his eyes as ifconsidering something. "Yes--oil of turpentine. "

Suddenly he opened his eyes, and the blank look of abstractionthat had masked his face was broken through by a gleam ofcomprehension that I knew flashed the truth to him intuitively. 

"Turn out that light in the corridor, " he ordered quickly. 

Dr. Leslie found and turned the switch. There we were alone, inthe now weird little dressing-room, alone with that horriblylovely thing lying there cold and motionless on the little whitebed. 

Kennedy moved forward in the darkness. Gently, almost as if shewere still the living, pulsing, sentient Blanche Blaisdell who hadentranced thousands, he opened her mouth. 

A cry from O'Connor, who was standing in front of me, followed. "What's that, those little spots on her tongue and throat? Theyglow. It is the corpse light!"

Surely enough, there were little luminous spots in her mouth. Ihad heard somewhere that there is a phosphorescence appearingduring decay of organic substances which once gave rise to theancient superstition of "corpse lights" and the will-o'-the-wisp. It was really due, I knew, to living bacteria. But there surelyhad been no time for such micro-organisms to develop, even in thealmost tropic heat of the Novella. Could she have been poisoned bythese phosphorescent bacilli? What was it--a strange new mouth-malady that had attacked this notorious adventuress and woman ofluxury?

Leslie had flashed up the light again before Craig spoke. We wereall watching him keenly. 

"Phosphorus, phosphoric acid, or phosphoric salve, " Craig saidslowly, looking eagerly about the room as if in search ofsomething that would explain it. He caught sight of the envelopestill lying on the dresser. He picked it up, toyed with it, lookedat the top where O'Connor had slit it, then deliberately tore theflap off the back where it had been glued in sealing the letter. 

"Put the light out again, " he asked. 

Where the thin line of gum was on the back of the flap, in thedarkness there glowed the same sort of brightness that we had seenin a speck here and there on Blanche Blaisdell's lips and in hermouth. The truth flashed over me. Some one had placed the stuff, whatever it was, on the flap of the envelope, knowing that shemust touch her lips to it to seal it She had done so, and thedeadly poison had entered her mouth. 

As the light went up again Kennedy added: "Oil of turpentineremoves traces of phosphorus, phosphoric acid, or phosphoricsalve, which are insoluble in anything else except ether andabsolute alcohol. Some one who knew that tried to eradicate them, but did not wholly succeed. O'Connor, see if you can find eitherphosphorus, the oil, or the salve anywhere in the shop. "

Then as O'Connor and Leslie hurriedly disappeared he added to me:"Another of those strange coincidences, Walter. You remember thegirl at the hospital? 'Look, don't you see it? She's afire. Herlips shine--they shine, they shine!'"

Kennedy was still looking carefully over the room. In a littlewicker basket was a newspaper which was open at the page oftheatrical news, and as I glanced quickly at it I saw a mostlaudatory paragraph about her. 

Beneath the paper were some torn scraps. Kennedy picked them upand pieced them together. "Dearest Blanche, " they read. "I hopeyou're feeling better after that dinner last night. Can you meetme to-night? Write me immediately. Collie. "

He placed the scraps carefully in his wallet. There was nothingmore to be done here apparently. As we passed down the corridor wecould hear a man apparently raving in good English and bad French. It proved to be Millefleur--or Miller--and his raving was asoverdone as that of a third-rate actor. Madame was trying to calmhim. 

"Henri, Henri, don't go on so, " she was saying. 

"A suicide--in the Novella. It will be in all the papers. We shallbe ruined. Oh--oh!"

"Here, can that sob stuff, " broke in one of O'Connor's officers. "You can tell it all when the chief takes you to headquarters, see?"

Certainly the man made no very favourable impression by hisactions. There seemed to be much that was forced about them, thatwas more incriminating than a stolid silence would have been. 

Between them Monsieur and Madame made out, however, to repeat toKennedy their version of what had happened. It seemed that a noteaddressed to Miss Blaisdell had been left by some one on the deskin the reception-room. No one knew who left it, but one of thegirls had picked it up and delivered it to her in her dressing-room. A moment later she rang her bell and called for one of thegirls named Agnes, who was to dress her hair. Agnes was busy, andthe actress asked her to get paper, a pen, and ink. At least itseemed that way, for Agnes got them for her. A few minutes laterher bell rang again, and Agnes went down, apparently to tell herthat she was now ready to dress her hair. 

The next thing any one knew was a piercing shriek from the girl. She ran down the corridor, still shrieking, out into thereception-room and rushed into the elevator, which happened to beup at the time. That was the last they had seen of her. The othergirls saw Miss Blaisdell lying dead, and a panic followed. Thecustomers dressed quickly and fled, almost in panic. All wasconfusion. By that time a policeman had arrived, and soon afterO'Connor and the coroner had come. 

There was little use in cross-questioning the couple. They hadevidently had time to agree on the story; that is, supposing itwere not true. Only a scientific third degree could have shakenthem, and such a thing was impossible just at that time. 

From the line of Kennedy's questions I could see that he believedthat there was a hiatus somewhere in their glib story, at leastsome point where some one had tried to eradicate the marks of thepoison. 

"Here it is. We found it, " interrupted O'Connor, holding up in hisexcitement a bottle covered with black cloth to protect it fromthe light. "It was in the back of a cabinet in the operating-room, and it is marked 'Ether phosphore". ' Another of oil of turpentinewas on a shelf in another cabinet. Both seem to have been usedlately, judging by the wetness of the bottoms of the glassstoppers. "

"Ether phosphore, phosphorated ether, " commented Kennedy, readingthe label to himself. "A remedy from the French Codex, composed, if I remember rightly, of one part phosphorus and fifty partssulphuric ether. Phosphorus is often given as a remedy for loss ofnerve power, neuralgia, hysteria, and melancholia. In quantitiesfrom a fiftieth to a tenth or so of a grain free phosphorus is arenovator of nerve tissue and nerve force, a drug for intense andlong-sustained anxiety of mind and protracted emotionalexcitement--in short, for fast living. "

He uncorked the bottle, and we tasted the stuff. It was unpleasantand nauseous. "I don't see why it wasn't used in the form ofpills. The liquid form of a few drops on gum arabic is hopelesslyantiquated. "

The elevator door opened with a clang, and a well-built, athleticlooking man of middle age with an acquired youngish look about hisclothes and clean-shaven face stepped out. His face was pale, andhis hand shook with emotion that showed that something hadunstrung his usually cast-iron nerves. I recognised Burke Collinsat once. 

In spite of his nervousness he strode forward with the air of aman accustomed to being obeyed, to having everything done for himmerely because he, Burke Collins, could afford to pay for it andit was his right. He seemed to know whom he was seeking, for heimmediately singled out O'Connor. 

"This is terrible, terrible, " he whispered hoarsely. "No, no, no, I don't want to see her. I can't, not yet. You know I thought theworld of that poor little girl. Only, " and here the innateselfishness of the man cropped out, "only I called to ask you thatnothing of my connection with her be given out. You understand?Spare nothing to get at the truth. Employ the best men you have. Get outside help if necessary. I'll pay for anything, anything. Perhaps I can use some influence for you some day, too. But, youunderstand--the scandal, you know. Not a word to the newspapers. "

At another time I feel sure that O'Connor would have succumbed. Collins was not without a great deal of political influence, andeven a first deputy may be "broke" by a man with influence. Butnow here was Kennedy, and he wished to appear in the best light. 

He looked at Craig. "Let me introduce Professor Kennedy, " he said. "I've already called him in. "

"Very happy to have the pleasure of meeting you, " said Collins, grasping Kennedy's hand warmly. "I hope you will take me as yourclient in this case. I'll pay handsomely. I've always had a greatadmiration for your work, and I've heard a great deal about it. "

Kennedy is, if anything, as impervious to blandishment as a stone, as the Blarney Stone is itself, for instance. "On one condition, "he replied slowly, "and that is that I go ahead exactly as if Iwere employed by the city itself to get at the truth. "

Collins bit his lip. It was evident that he was not accustomed tobeing met in this independent spirit. "Very well, " he answered atlast. "O'Connor has called you in. Work for him and--well, youknow, if you need anything just draw on me for it. Only if youcan, keep me out of it. I'll tell everything I can to help you--but not to the newspapers. "

He beckoned us outside. "Those people in there, " he nodded hishead back in the direction of the Millefleurs, "do you suspectthem? By George, it does look badly for them, doesn't it, when youcome to think of it? Well, now, you see, I'm frank andconfidential about my relations with Blan--er--Miss Blaisdell. Iwas at a big dinner with her last night with a party of friends. Isuppose she came here to get straightened out. I hadn't been ableto get her on the wire to-day, but at the theatre when I called upthey told me what had happened, and I came right over here. Nowplease remember, do everything, anything but create a scandal. Yourealise what that would mean for me. "

Kennedy said nothing. He simply laid down on the desk, piece bypiece, the torn letter which he had picked up from the basket, andbeside it he spread out the reply which Blanche had written. 

"What?" gasped Collins as he read the torn letter. "I send that?Why, man alive, you're crazy. Didn't I just tell you I hadn'theard from her until I called up the theatre just now?"

I could not make out whether he was lying or not when he said thathe had not sent the note. Kennedy picked up a pen. "Please writethe same thing as you read in the note on this sheet of theNovella paper. It will be all right. You have plenty of witnessesto that. "

It must have irked Collins even to have his word doubted, butKennedy was no respecter of persons. He took the pen and wrote. 

"I'll keep your name out of it as much as possible, " remarkedKennedy, glancing intently at the writing and blotting it. 

"Thank you, " said Collins simply, for once in his life at a lossfor words. Once more he whispered to O'Connor, then he excusedhimself. The man was so obviously sincere, I felt, as far as hisselfish and sensual limitations would permit, that I would nothave blamed Kennedy for giving him much more encouragement than hehad given. 

Kennedy was not through yet, and now turned quickly again to thecosmetic arcadia which had been so rudely stirred by the tragedy. 

"Who is this girl Agnes who discovered Miss Blaisdell?" he shotout at the Millefleurs. 

The beauty-doctor was now really painful in his excitement. Likehis establishment, even his feelings were artificial. 

"Agnes?" he repeated. "Why, she was one of Madame's best hair-dressers. See--my dear--show the gentlemen the book ofengagements. "

It was a large book full of girls' names, each an expert in curls, puffs, "reinforcements, " hygienic rolls, transformators, and thenumberless other things that made the fearful and wonderful hair-dresses of the day. Agnes's dates were full, for a day ahead. 

Kennedy ran his eye over the list of patrons. "Mrs. Burke Collins, 3:30, " he read. "Was she a patron, too?"

"Oh, yes, " answered Madame. "She used to come here three times aweek. It was not vanity. We all knew her, and we all liked her. "

Instantly I could read between the lines, and I felt that I hadbeen too charitable to Burke Collins. Here was the wife slaving tosecure that beauty which would win back the man with whom she hadworked and toiled in the years before they came to New York andsuccess. The "other woman" came here, too, but for a verydifferent reason. 

Nothing but business seemed to impress Millefleur, however. "Oh, yes, " he volunteered, "we have a fine class. Among my own patientsI have Hugh Dayton, the actor, you know, leading man in BlancheBlaisdell's company. He is having his hair restored. Why, I gavehim a treatment this afternoon. If ever there is a crazy man, itis he. I believe he would kill Mr. Collins for the way BlancheBlaisdell treats him. They were engaged--but, oh, well, " he gave avery good imitation of a French shrug, "it is all over now. Neither of them will get her, and I--I am ruined. Who will come tothe Novella now?"

Adjoining Millefleur's own room was the writing room from whichthe poisoned envelope had been taken to Miss Blaisdell. Over thelittle secretary was the sign, "No woman need be plain who willvisit the Novella, " evidently the motto of the place. The hair-dressing room was next to the little writing-room. There weremanicure rooms, steam-rooms, massage-rooms, rooms of alldescriptions, all bearing mute testimony to the fundamentalinstinct, the feminine longing for personal beauty. 

Though it was late when Kennedy had finished his investigation, heinsisted on going directly to his laboratory. There he pulled outfrom a corner a sort of little square table on which was fixed apowerful light such as might be used for a stereopticon. 

"This is a simple little machine, " he explained, as be pastedtogether the torn bits of the letter which he had fished out ofthe scrap-basket, "which detectives use in studying forgeries. Idon't know that it has a name, although it might be called a'rayograph. ' You see, all you have to do is to lay the thing youwish to study flat here, and the system of mirrors and lensesreflects it and enlarges it on a sheet. "

He had lowered a rolled-up sheet of white at the opposite end ofthe room, and there, in huge characters, stood forth plainly thewriting of the note. 

"This letter, " he resumed, studying the enlargement carefully, "islikely to prove crucial. It's very queer. Collins says he didn'twrite it, and if he did he surely is a wonder at disguising hishand. I doubt if any one could disguise what the rayograph shows. Now, for instance, this is very important. Do you see how thosestrokes of the long letters are--well, wobbly? You'd never seethat in the original, but when it is enlarged you see how plainlyvisible the tremors of the hand become? Try as you may, you can'tconceal them. The fact is that the writer of this note sufferedfrom a form of heart disease. Now let us look at the copy thatCollins made at the Novella. "

He placed the copy on the table of the rayograph. It was quiteevident that the two had been written by entirely differentpersons. "I thought he was telling the truth, " commented Craig, "by the surprised look on his face the moment I mentioned the noteto Miss Blaisdell. Now I know he was. There is no such evidence ofheart trouble in his writing as in the other. Of course that's allaside from what a study of the handwriting itself might disclose. They are not similar at all. But there is an important clue there. Find the writer of that note who has heart trouble, and we eitherhave the murderer or some one close to the murderer. "

I remembered the tremulousness of the little beauty-doctor, histhird-rate artificial acting of fear for the reputation of theNovella, and I must confess I agreed with O'Connor and Collinsthat it looked black for him. At one time I had suspected Collinshimself, but now I could see perfectly why he had not concealedhis anxiety to hush up his connection with the case, while at thesame time his instinct as a lawyer, and I had almost added, lover, told him that justice must be done. I saw at once how, accustomedas he was to weigh evidence, he had immediately seen thejustification for O'Connor's arrest of the Millefleurs. 

"More than that, " added Kennedy, after examining the fibres of thepaper under a microscope, "all these notes are written on the samekind of paper. That first torn note to Miss Blaisdell was writtenright in the Novella and left so as to seem to have been sent infrom outside. "

It was early the following morning when Kennedy roused me with theremark: "I think I'll go up to the hospital. Do you want to comealong? We'll stop for Barron on the way. There is a littleexperiment I want to try on that girl up there. "

When we arrived, the nurse in charge of the ward told us that herpatient had passed a fairly good night, but that now that theinfluence of the drug had worn off she was again restless andstill repeating the words that she had said over and over before. Nor had she been able to give any clearer account of herself. Apparently she had been alone in the city, for although there wasa news item about her in the morning papers, so far no relative orfriend had called to identify her. 

Kennedy had placed himself directly before her, listening intentlyto her ravings. Suddenly he managed to fix her eye, as if by asort of hypnotic influence. 

"Agnes!" he called in a sharp tone. 

The name seemed to arrest her fugitive attention. Before she couldescape from his mental grasp again he added: "Your date-book isfull. Aren't you going to the Novella this morning?"

The change in her was something wonderful to see. It was as thoughshe had come out of a trance. She sat up in bed and gazed aboutblankly. 

"Yes, yes, I must go, " she cried as if it were the most naturalthing in the world. Then she realised the strange surroundings andfaces. "Where is my hat--wh-where am I? What has happened?"

"You are all right, " soothed Kennedy gently. "Now rest. Try toforget everything for a little while, and you will be all right. You are among friends. "

As Kennedy led us out she fell back, now physically exhausted, onthe pillow. 

"I told you, Barron, " he whispered, "that there was more to thiscase than you imagined. Unwittingly you brought me a veryimportant contribution to a case of which the papers are full thismorning, the case of the murdered actress, Blanche Blaisdell. "

IV

THE BEAUTY SHOP

It was only after a few hours that Kennedy thought it wise to tryto question the poor girl at the hospital. Her story was simpleenough in itself, but it certainly complicated mattersconsiderably without throwing much light on the case. She had beenbusy because her day was full, and she had yet to dress the hairof Miss Blaisdell for her play that night. Several times she hadbeen interrupted by impatient messages from the actress in herlittle dressing-booth, and one of the girls had already demolishedthe previous hair-dressing in order to save time. Once Agnes hadrun down for a few seconds to reassure her that she would bethrough in time. 

She had found the actress reading a newspaper, and when Kennedyquestioned her she remembered seeing a note lying on the dresser. "Agnes, " Miss Blaisdell had said, "will you go into the writing-room and bring me some paper, a pen, and ink? I don't want to goin there this way. There's a dear good girl. " Agnes had gone, though it was decidedly no part of her duty as one of the highestpaid employes of the Novella. But they all envied the popularactress, and were ready to do anything for her. The next thing sheremembered was finishing the coiffure she was working on and goingto Miss Blaisdell. There lay the beautiful actress. The light inthe corridor had not been lighted yet, and it was dark. Her lipsand mouth seemed literally to shine. Agnes called her, but she didnot move; she touched her, but she was cold. Then she screamed andfled. That was the last she remembered. 

"The little writing-room, " reasoned Kennedy as we left the poorlittle hair-dresser quite exhausted by her narrative, "was next tothe sanctum of Millefleur, where they found that bottle of etherphosphore and the oil of turpentine. Some one who knew of thatnote or perhaps wrote it must have reasoned that an answer wouldbe written immediately. That person figured that the note would bethe next thing written and that the top envelope of the pile wouldbe used. That person knew of the deadly qualities of too muchphosphorised ether, and painted the gummed flap of the envelopewith several grains of it. The reasoning held good, for Agnes tookthe top envelope with its poisoned flap to Miss Blaisdell. No, there was no chance about that. It was all clever, quickreasoning. "

"But, " I objected, "how about the oil of turpentine?"

"Simply to remove the traces of the poison. I think you will seewhy that was attempted before we get through. "

Kennedy would say no more, but I was content because I could seethat he was now ready to put his theories, whatever they were, tothe final test. He spent the rest of the day working at thehospital with Dr. Barron, adjusting a very delicate piece ofapparatus down in a special room, in the basement. I saw it, but Ihad no idea what it was or what its use might be. 

Close to the wall was a stereopticon which shot a beam of lightthrough a tube to which I heard them refer as a galvanometer, about three feet distant. In front of this beam whirled a five-spindled wheel, governed by a chronometer which erred only asecond a day. Between the poles of the galvanometer was stretcheda slender thread of fused quartz plated with silver, only one one-thousandth of a millimetre in diameter, so tenuous that it couldnot be seen except in a bright light. It was a thread so slenderthat it might have been spun by a miscroscopic spider. 

Three feet farther away was a camera with a moving film ofsensitised material, the turning of which was regulated by alittle flywheel. The beam of light focused on the thread in thegalvanometer passed to the photographic film, intercepted only bythe five spindles of the wheel, which turned once a second, thusmarking the picture off into exact fifths of a second. Thevibrations of the microscopic quartz thread were enormouslymagnified on the sensitive film by a lens and resulted inproducing a long zig-zag, wavy line. The whole was shielded by awooden hood which permitted no light, except the slender ray, tostrike it. The film revolved slowly across the field, its speedregulated by the flywheel, and all moved by an electric motor. 

I was quite surprised, then, when Kennedy told me that the finaltests which he was arranging were not to be held at the hospitalat all, but in his laboratory, the scene of so many of hisscientific triumphs over the cleverest of criminals. 

While he and Dr. Barren were still fussing with the machine hedespatched me on the rather ticklish errand of gathering togetherall those who had been at the Novella at the time and mightpossibly prove important in the case. 

My first visit was to Hugh Dayton, whom I found in his bachelorapartment on Madison Avenue, apparently waiting for me. One ofO'Connor's men had already warned him that any attempt to evadeputting in an appearance when he was wanted would be of no avail. He had been shadowed from the moment that it was learned that hewas a patient of Millefleur's and had been at the Novella thatfatal afternoon. He seemed to realise that escape was impossible. Dayton was one of those typical young fellows, tall, with slopingshoulders and a carefully acquired English manner, whom one seesin scores on Fifth Avenue late in the afternoon. His face, whichon the stage was forceful and attractive, was not prepossessing atclose range. Indeed it showed too evident marks of excesses, bothphysical and moral, and his hand was none too steady. Still, hewas an interesting personality, if not engaging. 

I was also charged with delivering a note to Burke Collins at hisoffice. The purport of it was, I knew, a request couched inlanguage that veiled a summons that Mrs. Collins was of greatimportance in getting at the truth, and that if he needed anexcuse himself for being present it was suggested that he appearas protecting his wife's interests as a lawyer. Kennedy had addedthat I might tell him orally that he would pass over the scandalas lightly as possible and spare the feelings of both as much ashe could. I was rather relieved when this mission wasaccomplished, for I had expected Collins to demur violently. 

Those who gathered that night, sitting expectantly in the littlearmchairs which Kennedy's students used during his lectures, included nearly every one who could cast any light on what hadhappened at the Novella. Professor and Madame Millefleur werebrought up from the house of detention, to which both O'Connor andDr. Leslie had insisted that they be sent. Millefleur was stillbewailing the fate of the Novella, and Madame had begun to showevidences of lack of the constant beautification which she wasalways preaching as of the utmost importance to her patrons. Agneswas so far recovered as to be able to be present, though I noticedthat she avoided the Millefleurs and sat as far from them aspossible. 

Burke Collins and Mrs. Collins arrived together. I had expectedthat there would be an icy coolness if not positive enmity betweenthem. They were not exactly cordial, though somehow I seemed tofeel that now that the cause of estrangement was removed a tactfulmutual friend might have brought about a reconciliation. HughDayton swaggered in, his nervousness gone or at least controlled. I passed behind him once, and the odour that smote my olfactorysense told me too plainly that he had fortified himself with astimulant on his way from the apartment to the laboratory. Ofcourse O'Connor and Dr. Leslie were there, though in thebackground. 

It was a silent gathering, and Kennedy did not attempt to relievethe tension even by small talk as he wrapped the forearms of eachof us with cloths steeped in a solution of salt. Upon these clothshe placed little plates of German silver to which were attachedwires which led back of a screen. At last he was ready to begin. 

"The long history of science, " he began as he emerged from behindthe screen, "is filled with instances of phenomena, noted at firstonly for their beauty or mystery, which have been later proved tobe of great practical value to mankind. A new example is thestriking phenomenon of luminescence. Phosphorus, discoveredcenturies ago, was first merely a curiosity. Now it is used formany practical things, and one of the latest uses is as amedicine. It is a constituent of the body, and many doctorsbelieve that the lack of it causes, and that its presence willcure, many ills. But it is a virulent and toxic drug, and nophysician except one who knows his business thoroughly shouldpresume to handle it. Whoever made a practice of using it at theNovella did not know his business, or he would have used it inpills instead of in the nauseous liquid. It is not withphosphorised ether as a medicine that we have to deal in thiscase. It is with the stuff as a poison, a poison administered by ademon. "

Craig shot the word out so that it had its full effect on hislittle audience. Then he paused, lowered his voice, and resumed ona new subject. 

"Up in the Washington Heights Hospital, " he went on, "is anapparatus which records the secrets of the human heart. That is nofigure of speech, but a cold scientific fact. This machine recordsevery variation of the pulsations of the heart with such exquisiteaccuracy that it gives Dr. Barron, who is up there now, not merelya diagram of the throbbing organ of each of you seated here in mylaboratory a mile away, but a sort of moving-picture of theemotions by which each heart here is swayed. Not only can Dr. Barron diagnose disease, but he can detect love, hate, fear, joy, anger, and remorse. This machine is known as the Einthoven 'stringgalvanometer, ' invented by that famous Dutch physiologist ofLeyden. "

There was a perceptible movement in our little audience at thethought that the little wires that ran back of the screen from thearms of each were connected with this uncanny instrument so faraway. 

"It is all done by the electric current that the heart itselfgenerates, " pursued Kennedy, hammering home the new and startlingidea. "That current is one of the feeblest known to science, forthe dynamo that generates it is no ponderous thing of copper wireand steel castings. It is just the heart itself. The heart sendsover the wire its own telltale record to the machine whichregisters it. The thing takes us all the way back to Galvani, whowas the first to observe and study animal electricity. The heartmakes only one three-thousandth of a volt of electricity at eachbeat. It would take over two hundred thousand men to light one ofthese incandescent lamps, two million or more to run a trolley-car. Yet just that slight little current is enough to sway thegossamer strand of quartz fibre up there at what we call the'heart station. ' So fine is this machine that the pulse-tracingsproduced by the sphygmograph, which I have used in other cases upto this time, are clumsy and inexact. "

Again he paused as if to let the fear of discovery sink deep intothe minds of all of us. 

"This current, as I have said, passes from each one of you in turnover a wire and vibrates a fine quartz fibre up there in unisonwith each heart here. It is one of the most delicate bits ofmechanism ever made, beside which the hairspring of a watch iscoarse. Each of you in turn, is being subjected to this test. Morethan that, the record up there shows not only the beats of theheart but the successive waves of emotion that vary the form ofthose beats. Every normal individual gives what we call an'electro-cardiogram, ' which follows a certain type. Thephotographic film on which this is being recorded is ruled so thatat the heart station Dr. Barron can read it. There are five wavesto each heart-beat, which he letters P, Q, R, S, and T, two belowand three above a base line on the film. They have all been foundto represent a contraction of a certain portion of the heart. Anychange of the height, width, or time of any one of those linesshows that there is some defect or change in the contraction ofthat part of the heart. Thus Dr. Barron, who has studied thisthing carefully, can tell infallibly not only disease butemotion. "

It seemed as if no one dared look at his neighbour, as if all weretrying vainly to control the beating of their own hearts. 

"Now, " concluded Kennedy solemnly as if to force the last secretfrom the wildly beating heart of some one in the room, "it is mybelief that the person who had access to the operating-room of theNovella was a person whose nerves were run down, and in additionto any other treatment that person was familiar with the etherphosphore. This person knew Miss Blaisdell well, saw her there, knew she was there for the purpose of frustrating that person'sown dearest hopes. That person wrote her the note, and knowingthat she would ask for paper and an envelope in order to answerit, poisoned the flap of the envelope. Phosphorus is a remedy forhysteria, vexatious emotions, want of sympathy, disappointed andconcealed affections--but not in the quantities that this personlavished on that flap. Whoever it was, not life, but death, and aghastly death, was uppermost in that person's thoughts. "

Agnes screamed. "I saw him take something and rub it on her lips, and the brightness went away. I--I didn't mean to tell, but, Godhelp me, I must. "

"Saw whom?" demanded Kennedy, fixing her eye as he had when he hadcalled her back from aphasia. 

"Him--Millefleur--Miller, " she sobbed, shrinking back as if thevery confession appalled her. 

"Yes, " added Kennedy coolly, "Miller did try to remove the tracesof the poison after he discovered it, in order to protect himselfand the reputation of the Novella. "

The telephone bell tinkled. Craig seized the receiver. 

"Yes, Barron, this is Kennedy. You received the impulses allright? Good. And have you had time to study the records? Yes?What's that? Number seven? All right. I'll see you very soon andgo over the records again with you. Good-bye. "

"One word more, " he continued, now facing us. "The normal hearttraces its throbs in regular rhythm. The diseased or overwroughtheart throbs in degrees of irregularity that vary according to thetrouble that affects it, both organic and emotional. The expertlike Barron can tell what each wave means, just as he can tellwhat the lines in a spectrum mean. He can see the invisible, hearthe inaudible, feel the intangible, with mathematical precision. Barron has now read the electro-cardiograms. Each is a picture ofthe beating of the heart that made it, and each smallest variationhas a meaning to him. Every passion, every emotion, every disease, is recorded with inexorable truth. The person with murder in hisheart cannot hide it from the string galvanometer, nor can thatperson who wrote the false note in which the very lines of theletters betray a diseased heart hide that disease. The doctortells me that that person was number--"

Mrs. Collins had risen wildly and was standing before us withblazing eyes. "Yes, " she cried, pressing her hands on her breastas if it were about to burst and tell the secret before her lipscould frame the words, "yes, I killed her, and I would follow herto the end of the earth if I had not succeeded. She was there, thewoman who had stolen from me what was more than life itself. Yes, I wrote the note, I poisoned the envelope. I killed her. "

All the intense hatred that she had felt for that other woman inthe days that she had vainly striven to equal her in beauty andwin back her husband's love broke forth. She was wonderful, magnificent, in her fury. She was passion personified; she wasfate, retribution. 

Collins looked at his wife, and even he felt the spell. It was notcrime that she had done; it was elemental justice. 

For a moment she stood, silent, facing Kennedy. Then the colourslowly faded from her cheeks. She reeled. 

Colling caught her and imprinted a kiss, the kiss that for yearsshe had longed and striven for again. She looked rather than spokeforgiveness as he held her and showered them on her. 

"Before Heaven, " I heard him whisper into her ear, "with all mypower as a lawyer I will free you from this. "

Gently Dr. Leslie pushed him aside and felt her pulse as shedropped limply into the only easy chair in the laboratory. 

"O'Connor, " he said at length, "all the evidence that we reallyhave hangs on an invisible thread of quartz a mile away. IfProfessor Kennedy agrees, let us forget what has happened here to-night. I will direct my jury to bring in a verdict of suicide. Collins, take good care of her. " He leaned over and whispered soshe could not hear. "I wouldn't promise her six weeks otherwise. "

I could not help feeling deeply moved as the newly reunitedCollinses left the laboratory together. Even the bluff deputy, O'Connor, was touched by it and under the circumstances did whatseemed to him his higher duty with a tact of which I had believedhim scarcely capable. Whatever the ethics of the case, he left itentirely to Dr. Leslie's coroner's jury to determine. 

Burke Collins was already making hasty preparations for the careof his wife so that she might have the best medical attention toprolong her life for the few weeks or months before nature exactedthe penalty which was denied the law. 

"That's a marvellous piece of apparatus, " I remarked, standingover the connections with the string galvanometer, after all hadgone. "Just suppose the case had fallen into the hands of some ofthese old-fashioned detectives--"

"I hate post-mortems--on my own cases, " interrupted Kennedybrusquely. "To-morrow will be time enough to clear up this mess. Meanwhile, let us get this thing out of our minds. "

He clapped his hat on his head decisively and deliberately walkedout of the laboratory, starting off at a brisk pace in themoonlight across the campus to the avenue where now the only soundwas the noisy rattle of an occasional trolley car. 

How long we walked I do not know. But I do know that for genuinerelaxation after a long period of keen mental stress, there isnothing like physical exercise. We turned into our apartment, roused the sleepy hall-boy, and rode up. 

"I suppose people think I never rest, " remarked Kennedy, carefullyavoiding any reference to the exciting events of the past twodays. "But I do. Like every one else, I have to. When I am workinghard on a case--well, I have my own violent reaction against it--more work of a different kind. Others choose white lights, redwines and blue feelings afterwards. But I find, when I reach thatstate, that the best anti-toxin is something that will chase thelast case from your brain by getting you in trim for the nextunexpected event. "

He had sunk into an easy chair where he was running over in hismind his own plans for the morrow. 

"Just now I must recuperate by doing no work at all, " he went onslowly undressing. "That walk was just what I needed. When thefever of dissipation comes on again, I'll call on you. You won'tmiss anything, Walter. "

Like the famous Finnegan, however, he was on again and gone againin the morning. This time I had no misgivings, although I shouldhave liked to accompany him, for on the library table he hadscrawled a little note, "Studying East Side to-day. Will keep intouch with you. Craig. " My daily task of transcribing my notes wascompleted and I thought I would run down to the Star to let theeditor know how I was getting along on my assignment. 

I had scarcely entered the door when the office boy thrust amessage into my hand. It stopped me even before I had a chance toget as far as my own desk. It was from Kennedy at the laboratoryand bore a time stamp that showed that it must have been receivedonly a few minutes before I came in. 

"Meet me at the Grand Central, " it read, "immediately. "

Without going further into the office, I turned and dropped downin the elevator to the subway. As quickly as an express could takeme, I hurried up to the new station. 

"Where away?" I asked breathlessly, as Craig met me at theentrance through which he had reasoned I would come. "The coast orDown East?"

"Woodrock, " he replied quickly, taking my arm and dragging me downa ramp to the train that was just leaving for that fashionablesuburb. 

"Well, " I queried eagerly, as the train started. "Why all thissecrecy?"

"I had a caller this afternoon, " he began, running his eye overthe other passengers to see if we were observed. "She is goingback on this train. I am not to recognise her at the station, butyou and I are to walk to the end of the platform and enter alimousine bearing that number. "

He produced a card on the back of which was written a number insix figures. Mechanically I glanced at the name as he handed thecard to me. Craig was watching intently the expression on my faceas I read, "Miss Yvonne Brixton. "

"Since when were you admitted into society?" I gasped, stillstaring at the name of the daughter of the millionaire banker, John Brixton. 

"She came to tell me that her father is in a virtual state ofsiege, as it were, up there in his own house, " explained Kennedyin an undertone, "so much so that, apparently, she is the onlyperson he felt he dared trust with a message to summon me. Practically everything he says or does is spied on; he can't eventelephone without what he says being known. "

"Siege?" I repeated incredulously. "Impossible. Why, only thismorning I was reading about his negotiations with a foreignsyndicate of bankers from southeastern Europe for a ten-million-dollar loan to relieve the money stringency there. Surely theremust be some mistake in all this. In fact, as I recall it, one ofthe foreign bankers who is trying to interest him is that CountWachtmann who, everybody says, is engaged to Miss Brixton, and isstaying at the house at Woodrock. Craig, are you sure nobody ishoaxing you?"

"Read that, " he replied laconically, handing me a piece of thinletter-paper such as is often used for foreign correspondence. "Such letters have been coming to Mr. Brixton, I understand, everyday. "

The letter was in a cramped foreign scrawl:

 JOHN BRIXTON, Woodrock, New York. 

 American dollars must not endanger the peace of Europe. Be warned in time. In the name of liberty and progress we have raised the standard of conflict without truce or quarter against reaction. If you and the American bankers associated with you take up these bonds you will never live to receive the first payment of interest. 

 THE RED BROTHERHOOD OF THE BALKANS. 

I looked up inquiringly. "What is the Red Brotherhood?" I asked. 

"As nearly as I can make out, " replied Kennedy, "it seems to be asort of international secret society. I believe it preaches thegospel of terror and violence in the cause of liberty and union ofsome of the peoples of southeastern Europe. Anyhow, it keeps itssecrets well. The identity of the members is a mystery, as well asthe source of its funds, which, it is said, are immense. "

"And they operate so secretly that Brixton can trust no one abouthim?" I asked. 

"I believe he is ill, " explained Craig. "At any rate, he evidentlysuspects almost every one about him except his daughter. As nearlyas I could gather, however, he does not suspect Wachtmann himself. Miss Brixton seemed to think that there were some enemies of theCount at work. Her father is a secretive man. Even to her, theonly message he would entrust was that he wanted to see meimmediately. "

At Woodrock we took our time in getting off the train. MissBrixton, a tall, dark-haired, athletic girl just out of college, had preceded us, and as her own car shot out from the stationplatform we leisurely walked down and entered another bearing thenumber she had given Kennedy. 

We seemed to be expected at the house. Hardly had we been admittedthrough the door from the porte-cochere, than we were led througha hall to a library at the side of the house. From the library weentered another door, then down a flight of steps which must havebrought us below an open courtyard on the outside, under a rim ofthe terrace in front of the house for a short distance to a pointwhere we descended three more steps. 

At the head of these three steps was a great steel and iron doorwith heavy bolts and a combination lock of a character ordinarilyfound only on a safe in a banking institution. 

The door was opened, and we descended the steps, going a littlefarther in the same direction away from the side of the house. Then we turned at a right angle facing toward the back of thehouse but well to one side of it. It must have been, I figured outlater, underneath the open courtyard. A few steps farther broughtus to a fair-sized, vaulted room. 

V

THE PHANTOM CIRCUIT

Brixton had evidently been waiting impatiently for our arrival. "Mr. Kennedy?" he inquired, adding quickly without waiting for ananswer: "I am glad to see you. I suppose you have noticed theprecautions we are taking against intruders? Yet it seems to beall of no avail. I can not be alone even here. If a telephonemessage comes to me over my private wire, if I talk with my ownoffice in the city, it seems that it is known. I don't know whatto make of it. It is terrible. I don't know what to expect next. "

Brixton had been standing beside a huge mahogany desk as weentered. I had seen him before at a distance as a somewhat pompousspeaker at banquets and the cynosure of the financial district. But there was something different about his looks now. He seemedto have aged, to have grown yellower. Even the whites of his eyeswere yellow. 

I thought at first that perhaps it might be the effect of thelight in the centre of the room, a huge affair set in the ceilingin a sort of inverted hemisphere of glass, concealing andsoftening the rays of a powerful incandescent bulb which itenclosed. It was not the light that gave him the alteredappearance, as I concluded from catching a casual confirmatoryglance of perplexity from Kennedy himself. 

"My personal physician says I am suffering from jaundice, "explained Brixton. Rather than seeming to be offended at ournotice of his condition he seemed to take it as a good evidence ofKennedy's keenness that he had at once hit on one of the thingsthat were weighing on Brixton's own mind. "I feel pretty badly, too. Curse it, " he added bitterly, "coming at a time when it isabsolutely necessary that I should have all my strength to carrythrough a negotiation that is only a beginning, important not somuch for myself as for the whole world. It is one of the firsttimes New York bankers have had a chance to engage in big dealingsin that part of the world. I suppose Yvonne has shown you one ofthe letters I am receiving?"

He rustled a sheaf of them which he drew from a drawer of hisdesk, and continued, not waiting for Kennedy even to nod:

"Here are a dozen or more of them. I get one or two every day, either here or at my town house or at the office. "

Kennedy had moved forward to see them. 

"One moment more, " Brixton interrupted, still holding them. "Ishall come back to the letters. That is not the worst. I've hadthreatening letters before. Have you noticed this room?"

We had both seen and been impressed by it. 

"Let me tell you more about it, " he went on. "It was designedespecially to be, among other things, absolutely soundproof. "

We gazed curiously about the strong room. It was beautifullydecorated and furnished. On the walls was a sort of heavy, velvetygreen wall-paper. Exquisite hangings were draped about, and on thefloor were thick rugs. In all I noticed that the prevailing tintwas green. 

"I had experiments carried out, " he explained languidly, "with theobject of discovering methods and means for rendering walls andceilings capable of effective resistance to sound transmission. One of the methods devised involved the use under the ceiling orparallel to the wall, as the case might be, of a network of wirestretched tightly by means of pulleys in the adjacent walls andnot touching at any point the surface to be protected againstsound. Upon the wire network is plastered a composition formed ofstrong glue, plaster of Paris, and granulated cork, so as to makea flat slab, between which and the wall or ceiling is a cushion ofconfined air. The method is good in two respects: the absence ofcontact between the protective and protected surfaces and thecolloid nature of the composition used. I have gone into the thingat length because it will make all the more remarkable what I amabout to tell you. "

Kennedy had been listening attentively. As Brixton proceeded I hadnoticed Kennedy's nostrils dilating almost as if he were a houndand had scented his quarry. I sniffed, too. Yes, there was a faintodour, almost as if of garlic in the room. It was unmistakable. Craig was looking about curiously, as if to discover a window bywhich the odour might have entered. Brixton, with his eyesfollowing keenly every move, noticed him. 

"More than that" he added quickly, "I have had the most perfectsystem of modern ventilation installed in this room, absolutelyindependent from that in the house. "

Kennedy said nothing. 

"A moment ago, Mr. Kennedy, I saw you and Mr. Jameson glancing upat the ceiling. Sound-proof as this room is, or as I believe it tobe, I--I hear voices, voices from--not through, you understand, but from--that very ceiling. I do not hear them now. It is only atcertain times when I am alone. They repeat the words in some ofthese letters--'You must not take up those bonds. You must notendanger the peace of the world. You will never live to get theinterest. ' Over and over I have heard such sentences spoken inthis very room. I have rushed out and up the corridor. There hasbeen no one there. I have locked the steel door. Still I haveheard the voices. And it is absolutely impossible that a humanbeing could get close enough to say them without my knowing andfinding out where he is. "

Kennedy betrayed by not so much as the motion of a muscle even ashade of a doubt of Brixton's incredible story. Whether because hebelieved it or because he was diplomatic, Craig took the thing atits face value. He moved a blotter so that he could stand on thetop of Brixton's desk in the centre of the room. Then heunfastened and took down the glass hemisphere over the light. 

"It is an Osram lamp of about a hundred candlepower, I shouldjudge, " he observed. 

Apparently he had satisfied himself that there was nothingconcealed in the light itself. Laboriously, with such assistanceas the memory of Mr. Brixton could give, he began tracing out thecourse of both the electric light and telephone wires that leddown into the den. 

Next came a close examination of the ceiling and side walls, thefloor, the hangings, the pictures, the rugs, everything. Kennedywas tapping here and there all over the wall, as if to discoverwhether there was any such hollow sound as a cavity might make. There was none. 

A low exclamation from him attracted my attention, though itescaped Brixton. His tapping had raised the dust from the velvetywall-paper wherever he had tried it. Hastily, from a corner whereit would not be noticed, he pulled off a piece of the paper andstuffed it into his pocket. Then followed a hasty examination ofthe intake of the ventilating apparatus. 

Apparently satisfied with his examination of things in the den, Craig now prepared to trace out the course of the telephone andlight wires in the house. Brixton excused himself, asking us tojoin him in the library up-stairs after Craig had completed hisinvestigation. 

Nothing was discovered by tracing the lines back, as best wecould, from the den. Kennedy therefore began at the other end, andhaving found the points in the huge cellar of the house where themain trunk and feed wires entered, he began a systematic search inthat direction. 

A separate line led, apparently, to the den, and where this linefeeding the Osram lamp passed near a dark storeroom in a cornerCraig examined more closely than ever. Seemingly his search wasrewarded, for he dived into the dark storeroom and commencedlighting matches furiously to discover what was there. 

"Look, Walter, " he exclaimed, holding a match so that I could seewhat he had unearthed. There, in a corner concealed by an oldchest of drawers, stood a battery of five storage-cells connectedwith an instrument that looked very much like a telephonetransmitter, a rheostat, and a small transformer coil. 

"I suppose this is a direct-current lighting circuit, " heremarked, thoughtfully regarding his find. "I think I know whatthis is, all right. Any amateur could do it, with a littleknowledge of electricity and a source of direct current. The thingis easily constructed, the materials are common, and a wonderfullycomplicated result can be obtained. What's this?"

He had continued to poke about in the darkness as he was speaking. In another corner he had discovered two ordinary telephonereceivers. 

"Connected up with something, too, by George!" he ejaculated. 

Evidently some one had tapped the regular telephone wires runninginto the house, had run extensions into the little storeroom, andwas prepared to overhear everything that was said either to or bythose in the house. 

Further examination disclosed that there were two separatetelephone systems running into Brixton's house. One, with its manyextensions, was used by the household and by the housekeeper; theother was the private wire which led, ultimately, down intoBrixton's den. No sooner had he discovered it than Kennedy becameintensely interested. For the moment he seemed entirely to forgetthe electric-light wires and became absorbed in tracing out thecourse of the telephone trunk-line and its extensions. Continuedsearch rewarded him with the discovery that both the householdline and the private line were connected by hastily improvisedextensions with the two receivers he had discovered in the out-of-the-way corner of a little dark storeroom. 

"Don't disturb a thing, " remarked Kennedy, cautiously picking upeven the burnt matches he had dropped in his hasty search. "Wemust devise some means of catching the eavesdropper red handed. Ithas all the marks of being an inside job. "

We had completed our investigation of the basement withoutattracting any attention, and Craig was careful to make it seemthat in entering the library we came from the den, not from thecellar. As we waited in the big leather chairs Kennedy wassketching roughly on a sheet of paper the plan of the house, drawing in the location of the various wires. 

The door opened. We had expected John Brixton. Instead, a tall, spare foreigner with a close-cropped moustache entered. I knew atonce that it must be Count Wachtmann, although I had never seenhim. 

"Ah, I beg your pardon, " he exclaimed in English which betrayedthat he had been under good teachers in London. "I thought MissBrixton was here. "

"Count Wachtmann?" interrogated Kennedy, rising. 

"The same, " he replied easily, with a glance of inquiry at us. 

"My friend and I are from the Star" said Kennedy. 

"Ah! Gentlemen of the press?" He elevated his eyebrows thefraction of an inch. It was so politely contemptuous that I couldalmost have throttled him. 

"We are waiting to see Mr. Brixton, " explained Kennedy. 

"What is the latest from the Near East?" Wachtmann asked, with theair of a man expecting to hear what he could have told youyesterday if he had chosen. 

There was a movement of the portieres, and a woman entered. Shestopped a moment. I knew it was Miss Brixton. She had recognisedKennedy, but her part was evidently to treat him as a totalstranger. 

"Who are these men, Conrad?" she asked, turning to Wachtmann. 

"Gentlemen of the press, I believe, to see your father, Yvonne, "replied the count. 

It was evident that it had not been mere newspaper talk about thislatest rumored international engagement. 

"How did you enjoy it?" he asked, noticing the title of a historywhich she had come to replace in the library. 

"Very well--all but the assassinations and the intrigues, " shereplied with a little shudder. 

He shot a quick, searching look at her face. "They are a violentpeople--some of them, " he commented quickly. 

"You are going into town to-morrow?" I heard him ask Miss Brixton, as they walked slowly down the wide hall to the conservatory a fewmoments later. 

"What do you think of him?" I whispered to Kennedy. 

I suppose my native distrust of his kind showed through, for Craigmerely shrugged his shoulders. Before he could reply Mr. Brixtonjoined us. 

"There's another one--just came, " he ejaculated, throwing a letterdown on the library table. It was only a few lines this time:

"The bonds will not be subject to a tax by the government, theysay. No--because if there is a war there won't be any governmentto tax them!"

The note did not appear to interest Kennedy as much as what he haddiscovered. "One thing is self-evident, Mr. Brixton, " he remarked. "Some one inside this house is spying, is in constantcommunication with a person or persons outside. All the watchmenand Great Danes on the estate are of no avail against the subtle, underground connection that I believe exists. It is still early inthe afternoon. I shall make a hasty trip to New York and returnafter dinner. I should like to watch with you in the den thisevening. "

"Very well, " agreed Brixton. "I shall arrange to have you met atthe station and brought here as secretly as I can. "

He sighed, as if admitting that he was no longer master of evenhis own house. 

Kennedy was silent during most of our return trip to New York. Asfor myself, I was deeply mired in an attempt to fathom Wachtmann. He baffled me. However, I felt that if there was indeed somesubtle, underground connection between some one inside and someoneoutside Brixton's house, Craig would prepare an equally subtlemethod of meeting it on his own account. Very little was said byeither of us on the journey up to the laboratory, or on the returnto Woodrock. I realised that there was very little excuse for acommuter not to be well informed. I, at least, had plenty of timeto exhaust the newspapers I had bought. 

Whether or not we returned without being observed, I did not know, but at least we did find that the basement and dark storeroom weredeserted, as we cautiously made our way again it to the cornerwhere Craig had made his enigmatical discoveries of the afternoon. 

While I held a pocket flashlight Craig was busy concealing anotherinstrument of his own in the little storeroom. It seemed to be alittle black disk about as big as a watch, with a number ofperforated holes in one face. Carelessly he tossed it into the topdrawer of the chest under some old rubbish, shut the drawer tightand ran a flexible wire out of the back of the chest. It was asimple matter to lay the wire through some bins next the storeroomand then around to the passageway down to the subterranean den ofBrixton. There Craig deposited a little black box about the sizeof an ordinary kodak. 

For an hour or so we sat with Brixton. Neither of us saidanything, and Brixton was uncommunicatively engaged in reading arailroad report. Suddenly a sort of muttering, singing noiseseemed to fill the room. 

"There it is!" cried Brixton, clapping the book shut and lookingeagerly at Kennedy. 

Gradually the sound increased in pitch. It seemed to come from theceiling, not from any particular part of the room, but merely fromsomewhere overhead. There was no hallucination about it. We allheard. As the vibrations increased it was evident that they wereshaping themselves into words. 

Kennedy had grasped the black box the moment the sound began andwas holding two black rubber disks to his ears. 

At last the sound from overhead became articulate It was weird, uncanny. Suddenly a voice said distinctly: "Let American dollarsbeware. They will not protect American daughters. "

Craig had dropped the two ear-pieces and was gazing intently atthe Osram lamp in the ceiling. Was he, too, crazy?

"Here, Mr. Brixton, take these two receivers of the detectaphone, "said Kennedy. "Tell me whether you can recognise the voice. "

"Why, it's familiar, " he remarked slowly. "I can't place it, butI've heard it before. Where is it? What is this thing, anyhow?"

"It is someone hidden in the storeroom in the basement, " answeredCraig. "He is talking into a very sensitive telephone transmitterand--"

"But the voice--here?" interrupted Brixton impatiently. 

Kennedy pointed to the incandescent lamp in the ceiling. "Theincandescent lamp, " he said, "is not always the mute electricalapparatus it is supposed to be. Under the right conditions it canbe made to speak exactly as the famous 'speaking-arc, ' as it wascalled by Professor Duddell, who investigated it. Both the arc-light and the metal-filament lamp can be made to act as telephonereceivers. "

It seemed unbelievable, but Kennedy was positive. "In the case ofthe speaking-arc or 'arcophone, ' as it might be called, " hecontinued, "the fact that the electric arc is sensitive to suchsmall variations in the current over a wide range of frequency hassuggested that a direct-current arc might be used as a telephonereceiver. All that is necessary is to superimpose a microphonecurrent on the main arc current, and the arc reproduces sounds andspeech distinctly, loud enough to be heard several feet. Indeed, the arc could be used as a transmitter, too, if a sensitivereceiver replaced the transmitter at the other end. The thingsneeded are an arc-lamp, an impedance coil, or small transformer-coil, a rheostat, and a source of energy. The alternating currentis not adapted to reproduce speech, but the ordinary directcurrent is. Of course, the theory isn't half as simple as theapparatus I have described. "

He had unscrewed the Osram lamp. The talking ceased immediately. 

"Two investigators named Ort and Ridger have used a lamp like thisas a receiver, " he continued. "They found that words spoken werereproduced in the lamp. The telephonic current variationssuperposed on the current passing through the lamp producecorresponding variations of heat in the filament, which areradiated to the glass of the bulb, causing it to expand andcontract proportionately, and thus transmitting vibrations to theexterior air. Of course, in sixteen-and thirty-two-candle-powerlamps the glass is too thick, and the heat variations are toofeeble. "

Who was it whose voice Brixton had recognised as familiar overKennedy's hastily installed detectaphone? Certainly he must havebeen a scientist of no mean attainment. That did not surprise me, for I realised that from that part of Europe where this mysticalRed Brotherhood operated some of the most famous scientists of theworld had sprung. 

A hasty excursion into the basement netted us nothing. The placewas deserted. 

We could only wait. With parting instructions to Brixton in theuse of the detectaphone we said good night, were met by a watchmanand escorted as far as the lodge safely. 

Only one remark did Kennedy make as we settled ourselves for thelong ride in the accommodation train to the city. "That warningmeans that we have two people to protect--both Brixton and hisdaughter. "

Speculate as I might, I could find no answer to the mystery, norto the question, which was also unsolved, as to the queer maladyof Brixton himself, which his physician diagnosed as jaundice. 

VI

THE DETECTAPHONE

Far after midnight though it had been when we had at last turnedin at our apartment, Kennedy was up even earlier than usual in themorning. I found him engrossed in work at the laboratory. 

"Just in time to see whether I'm right in my guess about theillness of Brixton, " he remarked, scarcely looking up at me. 

He had taken a flask with a rubber stopper. Through one hole in itwas fitted a long funnel; through another ran a glass tube, connecting with a large U-shaped drying-tube filled with calciumchloride, which in turn connected with a long open tube with anup-turned end. 

Into the flask Craig dropped some pure granulated zinc coated withplatinum. Then he covered it with dilute sulphuric acid throughthe funnel tube. "That forms hydrogen gas, " he explained, "whichpasses through the drying-tube and the ignition-tube. Wait amoment until all the air is expelled from the tubes. "

He lighted a match and touched it to the open upturned end. Thehydrogen, now escaping freely, was ignited with a pale-blue flame. 

Next, he took the little piece of wall-paper I had seen him tearoff in the den, scraped off some powder from it, dissolved it, andpoured it into the funnel-tube. 

Almost immediately the pale, bluish flame turned to bluish white, and white fumes were formed. In the ignition-tube a sort ofmetallic deposit appeared. Quickly he made one test after another. I sniffed. There was an unmistakable smell of garlic in the air. 

"Arseniureted hydrogen, " commented Craig. "This is the Marsh testfor arsenic. That wall-paper in Brixton's den has been loaded downwith arsenic, probably Paris green or Schweinfurth green, which isaceto-arsenite of copper. Every minute he is there he is breathingarseniureted hydrogen. Some one has contrived to introduce freehydrogen into the intake of his ventilator. That acts on thearsenic compounds in the wall-paper and hangings and sets free thegas. I thought I knew the smell the moment I got a whiff of it. Besides, I could tell by the jaundiced look of his face that hewas being poisoned. His liver was out of order, and arsenic seemsto accumulate in the liver. "

"Slowly poisoned by minute quantities of gas, " I repeated inamazement. "Some one in that Red Brotherhood is a diabolicalgenius. Think of it--poisoned wall-paper!"

It was still early in the forenoon when Kennedy excused himself, and leaving me to my own devices disappeared on one of hisexcursions into the underworld of the foreign settlements on theEast Side. About the middle of the afternoon he reappeared. As faras I could learn all that he had found out was that the famous, orrather infamous, Professor Michael Kumanova, one of the leaders ofthe Red Brotherhood, was known to be somewhere in this country. 

We lost no time in returning again to Woodrock late thatafternoon. Craig hastened to warn Brixton of his peril from thecontaminated atmosphere of the den, and at once a servant was setto work with a vacuum cleaner. 

Carefully Craig reconnoitred the basement where the eavesdroppingstoreroom was situated. Finding it deserted, he quickly set towork connecting the two wires of the general household telephonewith what looked very much like a seamless iron tube, perhaps sixinches long and three inches in diameter. Then he connected thetube also with the private wire of Brixton in a similar manner. 

"This is a special repeating-coil of high efficiency, " heexplained in answer to my inquiry. "It is absolutely balanced asto resistance, number of turns, and everything. I shall run thisthird line from the coil into Brixton's den, and then, if youlike, you can accompany me on a little excursion down to thevillage where I am going to install another similar coil betweenthe two lines at the local telephone central station opposite therailroad. "

Brixton met us about eight o'clock that night in his now renovatedden. Apparently, even the little change from uncertainty tocertainty so far had had a tonic effect on him. I had, however, almost given up the illusion that it was possible for us to beeven in the den without being watched by an unseen eye. It seemedto me that to one who could conceive of talking through anincandescent lamp seeing, even through steel and masonry, was notimpossible. 

Kennedy had brought with him a rectangular box of oak, in one ofthe large faces of which were two square boles. As he replaced theblack camera-like box of the detectaphone with this oak box heremarked: "This is an intercommunicating telephone arrangement ofthe detectaphone. You see, it is more sensitive than anything ofthe sort ever made before. The arrangement of these little squareholes is such as to make them act as horns or magnifiers of adouble receiver. We can all hear at once what is going on by usingthis machine. "

We had not been waiting long before a peculiar noise seemed toissue from the detectaphone. It was as though a door had beenopened and shut hastily. Some one had evidently entered thestoreroom. A voice called up the railroad station and asked forMichael Kronski, Count Wachtmann's chauffeur. 

"It is the voice I heard last night, " exclaimed Brixton. "By theLord Harry, do you know, it is Janeff the engineer who has chargeof the steam heating, the electric bells, and everything of thesort around the place. My own engineer--I'll land the fellow injail before I'll--"

Kennedy raised his hand. "Let us hear what he has to say, "remonstrated Craig calmly. "I suppose you have wondered why Ididn't just go down there last night and grab the fellow. Well, you see now. It is my invariable rule to get the man highest up. This fellow is only one tool. Arrest him, and as likely as not weshould allow the big criminal to escape. "

"Hello, Kronski!" came over the detectaphone. "This is Janeff. Howare things going?"

Wachtmann's chauffeur must have answered that everything was allright. 

"You knew that they had discovered the poisoned wall-paper?" askedJaneff. 

A long parley followed. Finally, Janeff repeated what apparentlyhad been his instructions. "Now, let me see, " he said. "You wantme to stay here until the last minute so that I can overhearwhether any alarm is given for her? All right. You're sure it isthe nine-o'clock train she is due on? Very well. I shall meet youat the ferry across the Hudson. I'll start from here as soon as Ihear the train come in. We'll get the girl this time. That willbring Brixton to terms sure. You're right. Even if we fail thistime, we'll succeed later. Don't fail me. I'll be at the ferry assoon as I can get past the guards and join you. There isn't achance of an alarm from the house. I'll cut all the wires the lastthing before I leave. Good-bye. "

All at once it dawned on me what they were planning--thekidnapping of Brixton's only daughter, to hold her, perhaps, as ahostage until he did the bidding of the gang. Wachtmann'schauffeur was doing it and using Wachtmann's car, too. WasWachtmann a party to it?

What was to be done? I looked at my watch. It was already only acouple of minutes of nine, when the train would be due. 

"If we could seize that fellow in the closet and start for thestation immediately we might save Yvonne, " cried Brixton, startingfor the door. 

"And if they escape you make them more eager than ever to strike ablow at you and yours, " put in Craig coolly. "No, let us get thisthing straight. I didn't think it was as serious as this, but I'mprepared to meet any emergency. "

"But, man, " shouted Brixton, "you don't suppose anything in theworld counts beside her, do you?"

"Exactly the point, " urged Craig. "Save her and capture them--bothat once. "

"How can you?" fumed Brixton. "If you attempt to telephone fromhere, that fellow Janeff will overhear and give a warning. "

Regardless of whether Janeff was listening or not, Kennedy waseagerly telephoning to the Woodrock central down in the village. He was using the transmitter and receiver that were connected withthe iron tube which he had connected to the two regular houselines. 

"Have the ferry held at any cost, " he was ordering. "Don't let thenext boat go out until Mr. Brixton gets there, under anycircumstances. Now put that to them straight, central. You knowMr. Brixton has just a little bit of influence around here, andsomebody's head will drop if they let that boat go out before hegets there. "

"Humph!" ejaculated Brixton. "Much good that will do. Why, Isuppose our friend Janeff down in the storeroom knows it all now. Come on, let's grab him. "

Nevertheless there was no sound from the detectaphone which wouldindicate that he had overheard and was spreading the alarm. He wasthere yet, for we could hear him clear his throat once or twice. 

"No, " replied Kennedy calmly, "he knows nothing about it. I didn'tuse any ordinary means to prepare against the experts who havebrought this situation about. That message you heard me send wentout over what we call the 'phantom circuit. '"

"The phantom circuit?" repeated Brixton, chafing at the delay. 

"Yes, it seems fantastic at first, I suppose, " pursued Kennedycalmly; "but, after all, it is in accordance with the laws ofelectricity. It's no use fretting and fuming, Mr. Brixton. IfJaneff can wait, we'll have to do so, too. Suppose we should startand this Kronski should change his plans at the last minute? Howwould we find it out? By telepathy? Believe me, sir, it is betterto wait here a minute and trust to the phantom circuit than tomere chance. "

"But suppose he should cut the line, " I put in. 

Kennedy smiled. "I have provided for that, Walter, in the way Iinstalled the thing. I took good care that we could not be cut offthat way. We can hear everything ourselves, but we cannot beoverheard. He knows nothing. You see, I took advantage of the factthat additional telephones or so-called phantom lines can besuperposed on existing physical lines. It is possible to obtain athird circuit from two similar metallic circuits by using for eachside of this third circuit the two wires of each of the othercircuits in multiple. All three circuits are independent, too. 

"The third telephone current enters the wires of the firstcircuit, as it were, and returns along the wires of the secondcircuit. There are several ways of doing it. One is to useretardation or choke-coils bridged across the two metalliccircuits at both ends, with taps taken from the middle points ofeach. But the more desirable method is the one you saw me installthis afternoon. I introduced repeating-coils into the circuits atboth ends. Technically, the third circuit is then taken off fromthe mid-points of the secondaries or line windings of theserepeating coils. 

"The current on a long-distance line is alternating in character, and it passes readily through a repeating-coil. The only effect ithas on the transmission is slightly reducing the volume. Thecurrent passes into the repeating-coil, then divides and passesthrough the two line wires. At the other end the halves balance, so to speak. Thus, currents passing over a phantom circuit don'tset up currents in the terminal apparatus of the side circuits. Consequently, a conversation carried on over the phantom circuitwill not be heard in either side circuit, nor does a conversationon one side circuit affect the phantom. We could all talk at oncewithout interfering with each other. "

"At any other time I should be more than interested, " remarkedBrixton grimly, curbing his impatience to be doing something. 

"I appreciate that, sir, " rejoined Kennedy. "Ah, here it is. Ihave the central down in the village. Yes? They will hold the boatfor us? Good. Thank you. The nine-o'clock train is five minuteslate? Yes--what? Count Wachtmann's car is there? Oh, yes, thetrain is just pulling in. I see. Miss Brixton has entered his caralone. What's that? His chauffeur has started the car withoutwaiting for the Count, who is coming down the platform?"

Instantly Kennedy was on his feet. He was dashing up the corridorand the stairs from the den and down into the basement to thelittle storeroom. 

We burst into the place. It was empty. Janeff had cut the wiresand fled. There was not a moment to lose. Craig hastily made surethat he had not discovered or injured the phantom circuit. 

"Call the fastest car you have in your garage, Mr. Brixton, "ordered Kennedy. "Hello, hello, central! Get the lodge at theBrixton estate. Tell them if they see the engineer Janeff goingout to stop him. Alarm the watchman and have the dogs ready. Catchhim at any cost, dead, or alive. "

A moment later Brixton's car raced around, and we piled in andwere off like a whirlwind. Already we could see lights movingabout and hear the baying of dogs. Personally, I wouldn't havegiven much for Janeff's chances of escape. 

As we turned the bend in the road just before we reached theferry, we almost ran into two cars standing before the ferryhouse. It looked as though one had run squarely in front of theother and blocked it off. In the slip the ferry boat was stillsteaming and waiting. 

Beside the wrecked car a man was lying on the ground groaning, while another man was quieting a girl whom he was leading to thewaiting-room of the ferry. 

Brixton, weak though he was from his illness, leaped out of ourcar almost before we stopped and caught the girl in his arms. 

"Father!" she exclaimed, clinging to him. 

"What's this?" he demanded sternly, eying the man. It wasWachtmann himself. 

"Conrad saved me from that chauffeur of his, " explained MissBrixton. "I met him on the train, and we were going to ride up tothe house together. But before Conrad could get into the car thisfellow, who had the engine running, started it. Conrad jumped intoanother car that was waiting at the station. He overlook us anddodged in front so as to cut the chauffeur off from the ferry. "

"Curse that villain of a chauffeur, " muttered Wachtmann, lookingdown at the wounded man. 

"Do you know who he is?" asked Craig with a searching glance atWachtmann's face. 

"I ought to. His name is Kronski, and a blacker devil anemployment bureau never furnished. "

"Kronski? No, " corrected Kennedy. "It is Professor Kumanova, whomyou perhaps have heard of as a leader of the Red Brotherhood, oneof the cleverest scientific criminals who ever lived. I thinkyou'll have no more trouble negotiating your loan or your loveaffair, Count, " added Craig, turning on his heel. 

He was in no mood to receive the congratulations of thesupercilious Wachtmann. As far as Craig was concerned, the casewas finished, although I fancied from a flicker of his eye as hemade some passing reference to the outcome that when he came tosend in a bill to Brixton for his services he would not forget thehigh eyebrowed Count. 

I followed in silence as Craig climbed into the Brixton car andexplained to the banker that it was imperative that he should getback to the city immediately. Nothing would do but that the carmust take us all the way back, while Brixton summoned another fromthe house for himself. 

The ride was accomplished swiftly in record time. Kennedy saidlittle. Apparently the exhilaration of the on-rush of cool air wasquite in keeping with his mood, though for my part, I should havepreferred something a little more relaxing of the nervous tension. 

"We've been at it five days, now, " I remarked wearily as I droppedinto an easy chair in our own quarters. "Are you going to keep upthis debauch?"

Kennedy laughed. 

"No, " he said with a twinkle of scientific mischief, "no, I'mgoing to sleep it off. "

"Thank heaven!" I muttered. 

"Because, " he went on seriously, "that case interrupted a longseries of tests I am making on the sensitiveness of selenium tolight, and I want to finish them up soon. There's no telling whenI shall be called on to use the information. "

I swallowed hard. He really meant it. He was laying out more workfor himself. 

Next morning I fully expected to find that he had gone. Instead hewas preparing for what he called a quiet day in the laboratory. 

"Now for some REAL work, " he smiled. "Sometimes, Walter, I feelthat I ought to give up this outside activity and devote myselfentirely to research. It is so much more important. "

I could only stare at him and reflect on how often men wanted todo something other than the very thing that nature had evidentlyintended them to do, and on how fortunate it was that we were notalways free agents. 

He set out for the laboratory and I determined that as long as hewould not stop working, neither would I. I tried to write. SomehowI was not in the mood. I wrote AT my story, but succeeded only inmaking it more unintelligible. I was in no fit condition for it. 

It was late in the afternoon. I had made up my mind to use force, if necessary, to separate Kennedy from his study of selenium. Myidea was that anything from the Metropolitan to the "movies" woulddo him good, and I had almost carried my point when a big, severely plain black foreign limousine pulled up with a rush atthe laboratory door. A large man in a huge fur coat jumped out andthe next moment strode into the room. He needed no introduction, for we recognised at once J. Perry Spencer, one of the foremost ofAmerican financiers and a trustee of the university. 

With that characteristic directness which I have always thoughtaccounted in large measure for his success, he wasted scarcely aword in coming straight to the object of his visit. "ProfessorKennedy, " he began, chewing his cigar and gazing about withevident interest at the apparatus Craig had collected in hiswarfare of science with crime, "I have dropped in here as a matterof patriotism. I want you to preserve to America thosemasterpieces of art and literature which I have collected all overthe world during many years. They are the objects of one of themost curious pieces of vandalism of which I have ever heard. Professor Kennedy, " he concluded earnestly, "could I ask you tocall on Dr. Hugo Lith, the curator of my private museum, as soonas you can possibly find it convenient?"

"Most assuredly, Mr. Spencer, " replied Craig, with a whimsicalside glance at me that told without words that this was betterrelaxation to him than either the Metropolitan or the "movies. " "Ishall be glad to see Dr. Lith at any time--right now, if it isconvenient to him. "

The millionaire connoisseur consulted his watch. "Lith will be atthe museum until six, at least. Yes, we can catch him there. Ihave a dinner engagement at seven myself. I can give you half anhour of the time before then. If you're ready, just jump into thecar, both of you. "

The museum to which he referred was a handsome white marblebuilding, in Renaissance, fronting on a side street just off FifthAvenue and in the rear of the famous Spencer house, itself one ofthe show places of that wonderful thoroughfare. Spencer had builtthe museum at great cost simply to house those treasures whichwere too dear to him to entrust to a public institution. It was inthe shape of a rectangle and planned with special care as to thelighting. 

Dr. Lith, a rather stout, mild-eyed German savant, plungeddirectly into the middle of things as soon as we had beenintroduced. "It is a most remarkable affair, gentlemen, " he began, placing for us chairs that must have been hundreds of years old. "At first it was only those objects in the museum, that were greenthat were touched, like the collection of famous and historicFrench emeralds. But soon we found it was other things, too, thatwere missing--old Roman coins of gold, a collection of watches, and I know not what else until we have gone over the--"

"Where is Miss White?" interrupted Spencer, who had been listeningsomewhat impatiently. 

"In the library, sir. Shall I call her?"

"No, I will go myself. I want her to tell her experience toProfessor Kennedy exactly as she told it to me. Explain while I amgone how impossible it would be for a visitor to do one, to saynothing of all, of the acts of vandalism we have discovered. "

VII

THE GREEN CURSE

The American Medici disappeared into his main library, where MissWhite was making a minute examination to determine what damage hadbeen done in the realm over which she presided. 

"Apparently every book with a green binding has been mutilated insome way, " resumed Dr. Lith, "but that was only the beginning. Others have suffered, too, and some are even gone. It isimpossible that any visitor could have done it. Only a fewpersonal friends of Mr. Spencer are ever admitted here, and theyare never alone. No, it is weird, mysterious. "

Just then Spencer returned with Miss White. She was an extremelyattractive girl, slight of figure, but with an air about her thatall the imported gowns in New York could not have conferred. Theywere engaged in animated conversation, so much in contrast withthe bored air with which Spencer had listened to Dr. Lith thateven I noticed that the connoisseur was completely obliterated inthe man, whose love of beauty was by no means confined to theinanimate. I wondered if it was merely his interest in her storythat impelled Spencer. The more I watched the girl the more I wasconvinced that she knew that she was interesting to themillionaire. 

"For example, " Dr. Lith was saying, "the famous collection ofemeralds which has disappeared has always been what you Americanscall 'hoodooed. ' They hare always brought ill luck, and, like manythings of the sort to which superstition attaches, they have been'banked, ' so to speak, by their successive owners in museums. "

"Are they salable; that is, could any one dispose of the emeraldsor the other curios with reasonable safety and at a good price?"

"Oh, yes, yes, " hastened Dr. Lith, "not as collections, butseparately. The emeralds alone cost fifty thousand dollars. Ibelieve Mr. Spencer bought them for Mrs. Spencer some years beforeshe died. She did not care to wear them, however, and had themplaced here. "

I thought I noticed a shade of annoyance cross the face of themagnate. "Never mind that, " he interrupted. "Let me introduce MissWhite. I think you will find her story one of the most uncanny youhave ever heard. "

He had placed a chair for her and, still addressing us but lookingat her, went on: "It seems that the morning the vandalism wasfirst discovered she and Dr. Lith at once began a thorough searchof the building to ascertain the extent of the depredations. Thesearch lasted all day, and well into the night. I believe it wasmidnight before you finished?"

"It was almost twelve, " began the girl, in a musical voice thatwas too Parisian to harmonize with her plain Anglo-Saxon name, "when Dr. Lith was down here in his office checking off theobjects in the catalogue which were either injured or missing. Ihad been working in the library. The noise of something like ashade flapping in the wind attracted my attention. I listened. Itseemed to come from the art-gallery, a large room up-stairs wheresome of the greatest masterpieces in this country are hung. Ihurried up there. 

"Just as I reached the door a strange feeling seemed to come overme that I was not alone in that room. I fumbled for the electriclight switch, but in my nervousness could not find it. There wasjust enough light in the room to make out objects indistinctly. Ithought I heard a low, moaning sound from an old Flemish copperewer near me. I had heard that it was supposed to groan at night. "

She paused and shuddered at her recollection, and looked about asif grateful for the flood of electric light that now illuminatedeverything. Spencer reached over and touched her arm to encourageher to go on. She did not seem to resent the touch. 

"Opposite me, in the middle of the open floor, " she resumed, hereyes dilated and her breath coming and going rapidly, "stood themummy-case of Ka, an Egyptian priestess of Thebes, I think. Thecase was empty, but on the lid was painted a picture of thepriestess! Such wonderful eyes! They seem to pierce right throughyour very soul. Often in the daytime I have stolen off to look atthem. But at night--remember the hour of night, too--oh, it wasawful, terrible. The lid of the mummy-case moved, yes, reallymoved, and seemed to float to one side. I could see it. And backof that carved and painted face with the piercing eyes was anotherface, a real face, real eyes, and they looked out at me with suchhatred from the place that I knew was empty--"

She had risen and was facing us with wild terror written on herface as if in appeal for protection against something she waspowerless to name. Spencer, who had not taken his hand off herarm, gently pressed her back into the easy chair and finished thestory. 

"She screamed and fainted. Dr. Lith heard it and rushed up-stairs. There she lay on the floor. The lid of the sarcophagus had reallybeen moved. He saw it. Not a thing else had been disturbed. Hecarried her down here and revived her, told her to rest for a dayor two, but--"

"I cannot, I cannot, " she cried. "It is the fascination of thething. It brings me back here. I dream of it. I thought I sawthose eyes the other night. They haunt me. I fear them, and yet Iwould not avoid them, if it killed me to look. I must meet anddefy the power. What is it? Is it a curse four thousand years oldthat has fallen on me?"

I had heard stories of mummies that rose from their sleep ofcenturies to tell the fate of some one when it was hanging in thebalance, of mummies that groaned and gurgled and fought forbreath, frantically beating with their swathed hands in thewitching hours of the night. And I knew that the lure of thesemummies was so strong for some people that they were drawnirresistibly to look upon and confer with them. Was this a casefor the oculists, the spiritualists, the Egyptologists, or for adetective?

"I should like to examine the art gallery, in fact, go over thewhole museum, " put in Kennedy in his most matter-of-fact tone. 

Spencer, with a glance at his watch, excused himself, nodding toDr. Lith to show us about, and with a good night to Miss Whitewhich was noticeable for its sympathy with her fears, said, "Ishall be at the house for another half-hour at least, in caseanything really important develops. "

A few minutes later Miss White left for the night, with apparentreluctance, and yet, I thought, with just a little shudder as shelooked back up the staircase that led to the art-gallery. 

Dr. Lith led us into a large vaulted marble hall and up a broadflight of steps, past beautiful carvings and frescoes that Ishould have liked to stop and admire. 

The art-gallery was a long room in the interior and at the top ofthe building, windowless but lighted by a huge double skylighteach half of which must have been some eight or ten feet across. The light falling through this skylight passed through plate glassof marvellous transparency. One looked up at the sky as if throughthe air itself. 

Kennedy ignored the gallery's profusion of priceless art for thetime and went directly to the mummy-case of the priestess Ka. 

"It has a weird history, " remarked Dr. Lith. "No less than sevendeaths, as well as many accidents, have been attributed to themalign influence of that greenish yellow coffin. You know theancient Egyptians used to chant as they buried their sacred dead:'Woe to him who injures the tomb. The dead shall point out theevildoer to the Devourer of the Underworld. Soul and body shall bedestroyed. '"

It was indeed an awesome thing. It represented a woman in therobes of an Egyptian priestess, a woman of medium height, with aninscrutable face. The slanting Egyptian eyes did, as Miss Whitehad said, almost literally stare through you. I am sure that anyone possessing a nature at all affected by such things might aftera few minutes gazing at them in self-hypnotism really convincehimself that the eyes moved and were real. Even as I turned andlooked the other way I felt that those penetrating eyes were stilllooking at me, never asleep, always keen and searching. 

There was no awe about Kennedy. He carefully pushed aside the lidand peered inside. I almost expected to see some one in there. Amoment later he pulled out his magnifying-glass and. Carefullyexamined the interior. At last he was apparently satisfied withhis search. He had narrowed his attention down to a few marks onthe stone, partly in the thin layer of dust that had collected onthe bottom. 

"This was a very modern and material reincarnation, " he remarked, as he rose. "If I am not mistaken, the apparition wore shoes, shoes with nails in the heels, and nails that are not like thosein American shoes. I shall have to compare the marks I have foundwith marks I have copied from shoe-nails in the wonderfulcollection of M. Bertillon. Offhand, I should say that the shoeswere of French make. "

The library having been gone over next without anything attractingKennedy's attention particularly, he asked about the basement orcellar. Dr. Lith lighted the way, and we descended. 

Down there were innumerable huge packing-cases which had justarrived from abroad, full of the latest consignment of arttreasures which Spencer had purchased. Apparently Dr. Lith andMiss White had been so engrossed in discovering what damage hadbeen done to the art treasures above that they had not had time toexamine the new ones in the basement. 

Kennedy's first move was to make a thorough search of all thelittle grated windows and a door which led out into a sort oflittle areaway for the removal of ashes and refuse. The doorshowed no evidence of having been tampered with, nor did any ofthe windows at first sight. A low exclamation from Kennedy broughtus to his side. He had opened one of the windows and thrust hishand out against the grating, which had fallen on the outsidepavement with a clang. The bars had been completely andlaboriously sawed through, and the whole thing had been wedgedback into place so that nothing would be detected at a cursoryglance. He was regarding the lock on the window. Apparently it wasall right; actually it had been sprung so that it was useless. 

"Most persons, " he remarked, "don't know enough about jimmies. Against them an ordinary door-lock or window-catch is noprotection. With a jimmy eighteen inches long even an anaemicburglar can exert a pressure sufficient to lift two tons. Not onewindow in a thousand can stand that strain. The only use of locksis to keep out sneak-thieves and compel the modern scientificeducated burglar to make a noise. But making a noise isn't enoughhere, at night. This place with all its fabulous treasures must beguarded constantly, now, every hour, as if the front door werewide open. "

The bars replaced and the window apparently locked as before, Craig devoted his efforts to examining the packing cases in thebasement. As yet apparently nothing down there had been disturbed. But while rummaging about, from an angle formed behind one of thecases he drew forth a cane, to all appearances an ordinary Malaccawalking-stick. He balanced it in his hand a moment, then shook hishead. 

"Too heavy for a Malacca, " he ruminated. Then an idea seemed tooccur to him. He gave the handle a twist. Sure enough, it cameoff, and as it did so a bright little light flashed up. 

"Well, what do you think of that?" he exclaimed. "For a scientificdark-lantern that is the neatest thing I have ever seen. Anelectric light cane, with a little incandescent lamp and a batteryhidden in it. This grows interesting. We must at last have foundthe cache of a real gentleman burglar such as Bertillon saysexists only in books. I wonder if he has anything else hidden backhere. "

He reached down and pulled out a peculiar little instrument--asingle blue steel cylinder. He fitted a hard rubber cap snuglyinto the palm of his hand, and with the first and middle fingersencircled the cylinder over a steel ring near the other end. 

A loud report followed, and a vase, just unpacked, at the oppositeend of the basement was shattered as if by an explosion. 

"Phew!" exclaimed Kennedy. "I didn't mean to do that. I knew thething was loaded, but I had no idea the hair-spring ring at theend was so delicate as to shoot it off at a touch. It's one ofthose aristocratic little Apache pistols that one can carry in hisvest pocket and hide in his hand. Say, but that stung! And backhere is a little box of cartridges, too. "

We looked at each other in amazement at the chance find. Apparently the vandal had planned a series of visits. 

"Now, let me see, " resumed Kennedy. "I suppose our very human butnone the less mysterious intruder expected to use these again. Well, let him try. I'll put them back here for the present. I wantto watch in the art-gallery to-night. "

I could not help wondering whether, after all, it might not be aninside job and the fixing of the window merely a blind. Or was thevandal fascinated by the subtle influence of mysticism that sooften seems to emanate from objects that have come down from theremote ages of the world? I could not help asking myself whetherthe story that Miss White had told was absolutely true. Had therebeen anything more than superstition in the girl's evident fright?She had seen something, I felt sure, for it was certain she wasvery much disturbed. But what was it she had really seen? So farall that Kennedy had found had proved that the reincarnation ofthe priestess Ka had been very material. Perhaps the"reincarnation" had got in in the daytime and had spent the hoursuntil night in the mummy-case. It might well have been chosen asthe safest and least suspicious hiding-place. 

Kennedy evidently had some ideas and plans, for no sooner had hecompleted arrangements with Dr. Lith so that we could get into themuseum that night to watch, than he excused himself. Scarcelyaround the corner on the next business street he hurried into atelephone booth. 

"I called up First Deputy O'Connor, " he explained as he left thebooth a quarter of an hour later. "You know it is the duty of twoof O'Connor's men to visit all the pawn-shops of the city at leastonce a week, looking over recent pledges and comparing them withdescriptions of stolen articles. I gave him a list from thatcatalogue of Dr. Lith's and I think that if any of the emeralds, for instance, have been pawned his men will be on the alert andwill find it out. "

We had a leisurely dinner at a near-by hotel, during most of whichtime Kennedy gazed vacantly at his food. Only once did he mentionthe case, and that was almost as if he were thinking aloud. 

"Nowadays, " he remarked, "criminals are exceptionally wellinformed. They used to steal only money and jewels; to-day it isfamous pictures and antiques also. They know something about thevalue of antique bronze and marble. In fact, the spread of a tastefor art has taught the enterprising burglar that such things areworth money, and he, in turn, has educated up the receivers ofstolen goods to pay a reasonable percentage of the value of hisartistic plunder. The success of the European art thief isenlightening the American thief. That's why I think we'll findsome of this stuff in the hands of the professional fences. "

It was still early in the evening when we returned to the museumand let ourselves in with the key that Dr. Lith had loanedKennedy. He had been anxious to join us in the watch, but Craighad diplomatically declined, a circumstance that puzzled me andset me thinking that perhaps he suspected the curator himself. 

We posted ourselves in an angle where we could not possibly beseen even if the full force of the electrolier were switched on. Hour after hour we waited. But nothing happened. There werestrange and weird noises in plenty, not calculated to reassureone, but Craig was always ready with an explanation. 

It was in the forenoon of the day after our long and unfruitfulvigil in the art-gallery that Dr. Lith himself appeared at ourapartment in a great state of perturbation. 

"Miss White has disappeared, " he gasped, in answer to Craig'shurried question. "When I opened the museum, she was not there asshe is usually. Instead, I found this note. "

He laid the following hastily written message on the table:

 Do not try to follow me. It is the green curse that has pursued me from Paris. I cannot escape it, but I may prevent it from affecting others. 

 LUCILLE WHITE. 

That was all. We looked at each other at a loss to understand theenigmatic wording--"the green curse. "

"I rather expected something of the sort, " observed Kennedy. "Bythe way, the shoenails were French, as I surmised. They show themarks of French heels. It was Miss White herself who hid in themummy-case. "

"Impossible, " exclaimed Dr. Lith incredulously. As for myself, Ihad learned that it was of no use being incredulous with Kennedy. 

A moment later the door opened, and one of O'Connor's men came inbursting with news. Some of the emeralds had been discovered in aThird Avenue pawn-shop. O'Connor, mindful of the historic fate ofthe Mexican Madonna and the stolen statue of the Egyptian goddessNeith, had instituted a thorough search with the result that atleast part of the pilfered jewels had been located. There was onlyone clue to the thief, but it looked promising. The pawnbrokerdescribed him as "a crazy Frenchman of an artist, " tall, with apointed black beard. In pawning the jewels he had given the nameof Edouard Delaverde, and the city detectives were making acanvass of the better known studios in hope of tracing him. 

Kennedy, Dr. Lith and myself walked around to the boarding-housewhere Miss White lived. There was nothing about it, from thelandlady to the gossip, to distinguish it from scores of otherplaces of the better sort. We had no trouble in finding out thatMiss White had not returned home at all the night before. Thelandlady seemed to look on her as a woman of mystery, and confidedto us that it was an open secret that she was not an American atall, but a French girl whose name, she believed, was reallyLucille Leblanc--which, after all, was White. Kennedy made nocomment, but I wavered between the conclusions that she had beenthe victim of foul play and that she might be the criminalherself, or at least a member of a band of criminals. 

No trace of her could be found through the usual agencies forlocating missing persons. It was the middle of the afternoon, however, when word came to us that one of the city detectives hadapparently located the studio of Delaverde. It was coupled withthe interesting information that the day before a woman roughlyanswering the description of Miss White had been seen there. Delaverde himself was gone. 

The building to which the detective took us was down-town in aresidence section which had remained as a sort of little eddy toone side of the current of business that had swept everythingbefore it up-town. It was an old building and large, and wasentirely given over to studios of artists. 

Into one of the cheapest of the suites we were directed. It wasalmost bare of furniture and in a peculiarly shiftless state ofdisorder. A half-finished picture stood in the centre of the room, and several completed ones were leaning against the wall. Theywere of the wildest character imaginable. Even the conceptions ofthe futurists looked tame in comparison. 

Kennedy at once began rummaging and exploring. In a corner of acupboard near the door he disclosed a row of dark-colored bottles. One was filled halfway with an emerald-green liquid. 

He held it up to the light and read the label, "Absinthe. "

"Ah, " he exclaimed with evident interest, looking first at thebottle and then at the wild, formless pictures. "Our crazyFrenchman was an absintheur. I thought the pictures were ratherthe product of a disordered mind than of genius. "

He replaced the bottle, adding: "It is only recently that our owngovernment placed a ban on the importation of that stuff as aresult of the decision of the Department of Agriculture that itwas dangerous to health and conflicted with the pure food law. InFrance they call it the 'scourge, ' the 'plague, ' the 'enemy, ' the'queen of poisons. ' Compared with other alcoholic beverages it hasthe greatest toxicity of all. There are laws against the stuff inFrance, Switzerland, and Belgium. It isn't the alcohol alone, although there is from fifty to eighty per cent. In it, that makesit so deadly. It is the absinthe, the oil of wormwood, whosebitterness has passed into a proverb. The active principleabsinthin is a narcotic poison. The stuff creates a habit mostinsidious and difficult to break, a longing more exacting thanhunger. It is almost as fatal as cocaine in its blasting effectson mind and body. 

"Wormwood, " he pursued, still rummaging about, "has a specialaffinity for the brain-cells and the nervous system in general. Itproduces a special affliction of the mind, which might be calledabsinthism. Loss of will follows its use, brutishness, softeningof the brain. It gives rise to the wildest hallucinations. Perhapsthat was why our absintheur chose first to destroy or steal allthings green, as if there were some merit in the colour, when hemight have made away with so many more valuable things. Absintheurs have been known to perform some of the most intricatemanoeuvres, requiring great skill and the use of delicate tools. They are given to disappearing, and have no memory of theiractions afterward. "

On an ink-spattered desk lay some books, including Lombroso's"Degenerate Man" and "Criminal Woman. " Kennedy glanced at them, then at a crumpled manuscript that was stuck into a pigeonhole. Itwas written in a trembling, cramped, foreign hand, evidently partof a book, or an article. 

"Oh, the wickedness of wealth!" it began. "While millions of thepoor toilers slave and starve and shiver, the slave-drivers of to-day, like the slave-drivers of ancient Egypt, spend the moneywrung from the blood of the people in useless and worthless toysof art while the people have no bread, in old books while thepeople have no homes, in jewels while the people have no clothes. Thousands are spent on dead artists, but a dollar is grudged to aliving genius. Down with such art! I dedicate my life to rightingthe wrongs of the proletariat. Vive l'anarchism!"

The thing was becoming more serious. But by far the most seriousdiscovery in the now deserted studio was a number of large glasstubes in a corner, some broken, others not yet used and standingin rows as if waiting to be filled. A bottle labelled "SulphuricAcid" stood at one end of a shelf, while at the other was a hugejar full of black grains, next a bottle of chlorate of potash. Kennedy took a few of the black grains and placed them on a metalash-tray. He lighted a match. There was a puff and a little cloudof smoke. 

"Ah, " he exclaimed, "black gunpowder. Our absintheur was a bomb-maker, an expert perhaps. Let me see. I imagine he was making anexplosive bomb, ingeniously contrived of five glass tubes. Thecentre one, I venture, contained sulphuric acid and chlorate ofpotash separated by a close-packed wad of cotton wool. Then thetwo tubes on each side probably contained the powder, and perhapsthe outside tubes were filled with spirits of turpentine. When itis placed in position, it is so arranged that the acid in thecenter tube is uppermost and will thus gradually soak through thecotton wool and cause great heat and an explosion by contact withthe potash. That would ignite the powder in the next tubes, andthat would scatter the blazing turpentine, causing a terrificexplosion and a widespread fire. With an imperative idea ofvengeance, such as that manuscript discloses, either for his ownwrongs as an artist or for the fancied wrongs of the people, whatmay this absintheur not be planning now? He has disappeared, butperhaps he may be more dangerous if found than if lost. "

VIII

THE MUMMY CASE

The horrible thought occurred to me that perhaps he was not alone. I had seen Spencer's infatuation with his attractive librarian. The janitor of the studio-building was positive that a womananswering her description had been a visitor at the studio. Wouldshe be used to get at the millionaire and his treasures? Was sheherself part of the plot to victimise, perhaps kill, him? Thewoman had been much of an enigma to me at first. She was more sonow. It was barely possible that she, too, was an absintheur, whohad shaken off the curse for a time only to relapse into it again. 

If there were any thoughts like these passing through Kennedy'smind he did not show it, at least not in the shape of hesitatingin the course he had evidently mapped out to follow. He saidlittle, but hurried off from the studio in a cab up-town again tothe laboratory. A few minutes later we were speeding down to themuseum. 

There was not much time for Craig to work if he hoped to be readyfor anything that might happen that night. He began by windingcoil after coil of copper wire about the storeroom in the basementof the museum. It was not a very difficult matter to conceal it, so crowded was the room, or to lead the ends out through a windowat the opposite side from that where the window had been brokenopen. 

Up-stairs in the art-gallery he next installed several boxes suchas those which I had seen him experimenting with during his testsof selenium on the afternoon when Mr. Spencer had first called onus. They were camera-like boxes, about ten inches long, threeinches or so wide, and four inches deep. 

One end was open, or at least looked as though the end had beenshoved several inches into the interior of the box. I looked intoone of the boxes and saw a slit in the wall that had been shovedin. Kennedy was busy adjusting the apparatus, and paused only toremark that the boxes contained two sensitive selenium surfacesbalanced against two carbon resistances. There was also in the boxa clockwork mechanism which Craig wound up and set ticking ever sosoftly. Then he moved a rod that seemed to cover the slit, untilthe apparatus was adjusted to his satisfaction, a delicateoperation, judging by the care he took. Several of these boxeswere installed, and by that time it was quite late. 

Wires from the apparatus in the art-gallery also led outside, andthese as well as the wires from the coils down in the basement heled across the bit of garden back of the Spencer house and up to aroom on the top floor. In the upper room he attached the wiresfrom the storeroom to what looked like a piece of crystal and atelephone receiver. Those from the art-gallery terminated insomething very much like the apparatus which a wireless operatorwears over his head. 

Among other things which Craig had brought down from thelaboratory was a package which he had not yet unwrapped. He placedit near the window, still wrapped. It was quite large, and musthave weighed fifteen or twenty pounds. That done, he produced atape-measure and began, as if he were a surveyor, to measurevarious distances and apparently to calculate the angles anddistances from the window-sill of the Spencer house to theskylight, which was the exact centre of the museum. The straightdistance, if I recall correctly, was in the neighborhood of fourhundred feet. 

These preparations completed, there was nothing left to do but towait for something to happen. Spencer had declined to get alarmedabout our fears for his own safety, and only with difficulty hadwe been able to dissuade him from moving heaven and earth to findMiss White, a proceeding which must certainly have disarrangedKennedy's carefully laid plans. So interested was he that hepostponed one of the most important business conferences of theyear, growing out of the anti-trust suits, in order to be presentwith Dr. Lith and ourselves in the little upper back room. 

It was quite late when Kennedy completed his hasty arrangements, yet as the night advanced we grew more and more impatient forsomething to happen. Craig was apparently even more anxious thanhe had been the night before, when we watched in the art-galleryitself. Spencer was nervously smoking, lighting one cigarfuriously from another until the air was almost blue. 

Scarcely a word was spoken as hour after hour Craig sat with thereceiver to his ear, connected with the coils down in thestoreroom. "You might call this an electric detective, " he hadexplained to Spencer. "For example, if you suspected that anythingout of the way was going on in a room anywhere this would reportmuch to you even if you were miles away. It is the discovery of astudent of Thorne Baker, the English electrical expert. He wasexperimenting with high-frequency electric currents, investigatingthe nature of the discharges used for electrifying certain things. Quite by accident he found that when the room on which he wasexperimenting was occupied by some person his measuring-instruments indicated that fact. He tested the degree of variationby passing the current first through the room and then through asensitive crystal to a delicate telephone receiver. There was adistinct change in the buzzing sound heard through the telephonewhen the room was occupied or unoccupied. What I have done is towind single loops of plain wire on each side of that room downthere, as well as to wind around the room a few turns of concealedcopper wire. These collectors are fitted to a crystal ofcarborundum and a telephone receiver. "

We had each tried the thing and could hear a distinct buzzing inthe receiver. 

"The presence of a man or woman in that room would be evident to aperson listening miles away, " he went on. "A high-frequencycurrent is constantly passing through that storeroom. That is whatcauses that normal buzzing. "

It was verging on midnight when Kennedy suddenly cried: "Here, Walter, take this receiver. You remember how the buzzing sounded. Listen. Tell me if you, too, can detect the change. "

I clapped the receiver quickly to my ear. Indeed I could tell thedifference. In place of the load buzzing there was only a mildsound. It was slower and lower. 

"That means, " he said excitedly, "that some one has entered thatpitch-dark storeroom by the broken window. Let me take thereceiver back again. Ah, the buzzing is coming back. He is leavingthe room. I suppose he has found the electric light cane and thepistol where he left them. Now, Walter, since you have becomeaccustomed to this thing take it and tell me what you hear. "

Craig had already seized the other apparatus connected with theart-gallery and had the wireless receiver over his head. He waslistening with rapt attention, talking while he waited. 

"This is an apparatus, " he was saying, "that was devised by Dr. Fournier d'Albe, lecturer on physics at Birmingham University, toaid the blind. It is known as the optophone. What I am literallydoing now is to HEAR light. The optophone translates light intosound by means of that wonderful little element, selenium, whichin darkness is a poor conductor of electricity, but in light is agood conductor. This property is used in the optophone intransmitting an electric current which is interrupted by a specialclockwork interrupter. It makes light and darkness audible in thetelephone. This thing over my head is like a wireless telephonereceiver, capable of detecting a current of even a quarter of amicroampere. "

We were all waiting expectantly for Craig to speak. Evidently theintruder was now mounting the stairs to the art-gallery. 

"Actually I can hear the light of the stars shining in throughthat wonderful plate glass skylight of yours, Mr. Spencer, " hewent on. "A few moments ago when the moon shone through I couldhear it, like the rumble of a passing cart. I knew it was the moonboth because I could see that it must be shining in and because Irecognised the sound. The sun would thunder like a passingexpress-train if it were daytime now. I can distinguish a shadowpassing between the optophone and the light. A hand moved acrossin front of it would give a purring sound, and a glimpse out of awindow in daylight would sound like a cinematograph reeling off afilm. 

"Ah, there he is. " Craig was listening with intense excitementnow. "Our intruder has entered the art-gallery. He is flashing hiselectric light cane about at various objects, reconnoitring. Nodoubt if I were expert enough and had had time to study it, Icould tell you by the sound just what he is looking at. "

"Craig, " I interrupted, this time very excited myself, "thebuzzing from the high-frequency current is getting lower andlower. "

"By George, then, there is another of them, " he replied. "I'm notsurprised. Keep a sharp watch. Tell me the moment the buzzingincreases again. "

Spencer could scarcely control his impatience. It had been a longtime since he had been a mere spectator, and he did not seem torelish being held in check by anybody. 

"Now that you are sure the vandal is there, " he cut in, his cigarout in his excitement, "can't we make a dash over there and gethim before he has a chance to do any more damage? He might bedestroying thousands of dollars' worth of stuff while we arewaiting here. "

"And he could destroy the whole collection, building and all, including ourselves into the bargain, if he heard so much as awhisper from us, " added Kennedy firmly. 

"That second person has left the storeroom, Craig, " I put in. "Thebuzzing has returned again full force. "

Kennedy tore the wireless receiver from his ear. "Here, Walter, never mind about that electric detective any more, then. Take theoptophone. Describe minutely to me just exactly what you hear. "

He had taken from his pocket a small metal ball. I seized thereceiver from him and fitted it to my ear. It took me severalinstants to accustom my ears to the new sounds, but they wereplain enough, and I shouted my impressions of their variations. Kennedy was busy at the window over the heavy package, from whichhe had torn the wrapping. His back was toward us, and we could notsee what he was doing. 

A terrific din sounded in my ears, almost splitting my ear-drums. It was as though I had been suddenly hurled into a magnified caveof the winds and a cataract mightier than Niagara was thunderingat me. It was so painful that I cried out in surprise andinvoluntarily dropped the receiver to the floor. 

"It was the switching on of the full glare of the electric lightsin the art-gallery, " Craig shouted. "The other person must havegot up to the room quicker than I expected. Here goes. "

A loud explosion took place, apparently on the very window-sill ofour room. Almost at the same instant there was a crash of glassfrom the museum. 

We sprang to the window, I expecting to see Kennedy injured, Spencer expecting to see his costly museum a mass of smokingruins. Instead we saw nothing of the sort. On the window-ledge wasa peculiar little instrument that looked like a miniature field-gun with an elaborate system of springs and levers to break therecoil. 

Craig had turned from it so suddenly that he actually ran fulltilt into us. "Come on, " he cried breathlessly, bolting from theroom, and seizing Dr. Lith by the arm as he did so. "Dr. Lith, thekeys to the museum, quick! We must get there before the fumesclear away. "

He was taking the stairs two at a time, dragging the dignifiedcurator with him. 

In fewer seconds than I can tell it we were in the museum andmounting the broad staircase to the art-gallery. An overpoweringgas seemed to permeate everything. 

"Stand back a moment, " cautioned Kennedy as we neared the door. "Ihave just shot in here one of those asphyxiating bombs which theParis police invented to war against the Apaches and the motor-carbandits. Open all the windows back here and let the air clear. Walter, breathe as little of it as you can--but--come here--do yousee?--over there, near the other door--a figure lying on thefloor? Make a dash in after me and carry it out. There is just onething more. If I am not back in a minute come in and try to getme. "

He had already preceded me into the stifling fumes. With a lastlong breath of fresh air I plunged in after him, scarcely knowingwhat would happen to me. I saw the figure on the floor, seized it, and backed out of the room as fast as I could. 

Dizzy and giddy from the fumes I had been forced to inhale, Imanaged to drag the form to the nearest window. It was LucilleWhite. 

An instant later I felt myself unceremoniously pushed aside. Spencer had forgotten all about the millions of dollars' worth ofcurios, all about the suspicions that had been entertained againsther, and had taken the half-conscious burden from me. 

"This is the second time I have found you here, Edouard, " she wasmuttering in her half-delirium, still struggling. "The first time--that night I hid in the mummy-case, you fled when I called forhelp. I have followed you every moment since last night to preventthis. Edouard, don't, DON'T! Remember I was--I am your wife. Listen to me. Oh, it is the absinthe that has spoiled your art andmade it worthless, not the critics. It is not Mr. Spencer who hasenticed me away, but you who drove me away, first from Paris, andnow from New York. He has been only--No! No!--" she was shriekingnow, her eyes wide open as she realised it was Spencer himself shesaw leaning over her. With a great effort she seemed to rouseherself. "Don't stay. Run--run. Leave me. He has a bomb that maygo off at any moment. Oh--oh--it is the curse of absinthe thatpursues me. Will you not go? Vite! Vite!"

She had almost fainted and was lapsing into French, laughing andcrying alternately, telling him to go, yet clinging to him. 

Spencer paid no attention to what she had said of the bomb. But Idid. The minute was up, and Kennedy was in there yet. I turned torush in again to warn him at any peril. 

Just then a half-conscious form staggered against me. It was Craighimself. He was holding the infernal machine of the five glasstubes that might at any instant blow us into eternity. 

Overcome himself, he stumbled. The sinking sensation in my heart Ican never describe. It was just a second that I waited for theterrific explosion that was to end it all for us, one longinterminable second. 

But it did not come. 

Limp as I was with the shock, I dropped down beside him and bentover. 

"A glass of water, Walter, " he murmured, "and fan me a bit. Ididn't dare trust myself to carry the thing complete, so I emptiedthe acid into the sarcophagus. I guess I must have stayed in theretoo long. But we are safe. See if you can drag out Delaverde. Heis in there by the mummy-case. "

Spencer was still holding Lucille, although she was much better inthe fresh air of the hall. "I understand, " he was muttering. "Youhave been following this fiend of a husband of yours to protectthe museum and myself from him. Lucille, Lucille--look at me. Youare mine, not his, whether he is dead or alive. I will free youfrom him, from the curse of the absinthe that has pursued you. "

The fumes had cleared a great deal by this time. In the centre ofthe art-gallery we found a man, a tall, black-bearded Frenchman, crazy indeed from the curse of the green absinthe that had ruinedhim. He was scarcely breathing from a deadly wound in his chest. The hair-spring ring of the Apache pistol had exploded thecartridge as he fell. 

Spencer did not even look at him, as he carried his own burdendown to the little office of Dr. Lith. 

"When a rich man marries a girl who has been earning her ownliving, the newspapers always distort it, " he whispered aside tome a few minutes later. "Jameson, you're a newspaperman--I dependon you to get the facts straight this time. "

Outside, Kennedy grasped my arm. 

"You'll do that, Walter?" he asked persuasively. "Spencer is aclient that one doesn't get every day. Just drop into the Staroffice and give them the straight story, I'll promise you I'll nottake another case until you are free again to go on with me init. "

There was no denying him. As briefly as I could I rehearsed themain facts to the managing editor late that night. I was too tiredto write it at length, yet I could not help a feeling ofsatisfaction as he exclaimed, "Great stuff, Jameson, --great. "

"I know, " I replied, "but this six-cylindered existence for a weekwears you out. "

"My dear boy, " he persisted, "if I had turned some one else looseon that story, he'd have been dead. Go to it--it's fine. "

It was a bit of blarney, I knew. But somehow or other I liked it. It was just what I needed to encourage me, and I hurried uptownpromising myself a sound sleep at any rate. 

"Very good, " remarked Kennedy the next morning, poking his head inat my door and holding up a copy of the Star into which a veryaccurate brief account of the affair had been dropped at the lastmoment. "I'm going over to the laboratory. See you there as soonas you can get over. "

"Craig, " I remarked an hour or so later as I sauntered in on him, hard at work, "I don't see how you stand this feverish activity. "

"Stand it?" he repeated, holding up a beaker to the light to watcha reaction. "It's my very life. Stand it? Why, man, if you want meto pass away--stop it. As long as it lasts, I shall be all right. Let it quit and I'll--I'll go back to research work, " he laughed. 

Evidently he had been waiting for me, for as he talked, he laidaside the materials with which he had been working and waspreparing to go out. 

"Then, too, " he went on, "I like to be with people like Spencerand Brixton. For example, while I was waiting here for you, therecame a call from Emery Pitts. "

"Emery Pitts?" I echoed. "What does he want?"

"The best way to find out is--to find out, " he answered simply. "It's getting late and I promised to be there directly. I thinkwe'd better take a taxi. "

A few minutes later we were ushered into a large Fifth Avenuemansion and were listening to a story which interested evenKennedy. 

"Not even a blood spot has been disturbed in the kitchen. Nothinghas been altered since the discovery of the murdered chef, exceptthat his body has been moved into the next room. "

Emery Pitts, one of the "thousand millionaires of steel, "overwrought as he was by a murder in his own household, sank backin his easy-chair, exhausted. 

Pitts was not an old man; indeed, in years he was in the prime oflife. Yet by his looks he might almost have been double his age, the more so in contrast with Minna Pitts, his young and verypretty wife, who stood near him in the quaint breakfast-room andsolicitously moved a pillow back of his head. 

Kennedy and I looked on in amazement. We knew that he had recentlyretired from active business, giving as a reason his failinghealth. But neither of us had thought, when the hasty summons cameearly that morning to visit him immediately at his house, that hiscondition was as serious as it now appeared. 

"In the kitchen?" repeated Kennedy, evidently not prepared for anytrouble in that part of the house. 

Pitts, who had closed his eyes, now reopened them slowly and Inoticed how contracted were the pupils. 

"Yes, " he answered somewhat wearily, "my private kitchen which Ihave had fitted up. You know, I am on a diet, have been ever sinceI offered the one hundred thousand dollars for the surerestoration of youth. I shall have you taken out there presently. "

He lapsed again into a half dreamy state, his head bowed on onehand resting on the arm of his chair. The morning's mail still layon the table, some letters open, as they had been when thediscovery had been announced. Mrs. Pitts was apparently muchexcited and unnerved by the gruesome discovery in the house, "You have no idea who the murderer might be?" asked Kennedy, addressing Pitts, but glancing keenly at his wife. 

"No, " replied Pitts, "if I had I should have called the regularpolice. I wanted you to take it up before they spoiled any of theclues. In the first place we do not think it could have been doneby any of the other servants. At least, Minna says that there wasno quarrel. "

"How could any one have got in from the outside?" asked Craig. 

"There is a back way, a servants' entrance, but it is usuallylocked. Of course some one might have obtained a key to it. "

Mrs. Pitts had remained silent throughout the dialogue. I couldnot help thinking that she suspected something, perhaps wasconcealing something. Yet each of them seemed equally anxious tohave the marauder apprehended, whoever he might be. 

"My dear, " he said to her at length, "will you call some one andhave them taken to the kitchen?"

IX

THE ELIXIR OF LIFE

As Minna Pitts led us through the large mansion preparatory toturning us over to a servant she explained hastily that Mr. Pittshad long been ill and was now taking a new treatment under Dr. Thompson Lord. No one having answered her bell in the presentstate of excitement of the house, she stopped short at the pivoteddoor of the kitchen, with a little shudder at the tragedy, andstood only long enough to relate to us the story as she had heardit from the valet, Edward. 

Mr. Pitts, it seemed, had wanted an early breakfast and had sentEdward to order it. The valet had found the kitchen a veritableslaughter-house, with, the negro chef, Sam, lying dead on thefloor. Sam had been dead, apparently, since the night before. 

As she hurried away, Kennedy pushed open the door. It was amarvellous place, that antiseptic or rather aseptic kitchen, withits white tiling and enamel, its huge ice-box, and cooking-utensils for every purpose, all of the most expensive and modernmake. 

There were marks everywhere of a struggle, and by the side of thechef, whose body now lay in the next room awaiting the coroner, lay a long carving-knife with which he had evidently defendedhimself. On its blade and haft were huge coagulated spots ofblood. The body of Sam bore marks of his having been clutchedviolently by the throat, and in his head was a single, deep woundthat penetrated the skull in a most peculiar manner. It did notseem possible that a blow from a knife could have done it. It wasa most unusual wound and not at all the sort that could have beenmade by a bullet. 

As Kennedy examined it, he remarked, shaking his head inconfirmation of his own opinion, "That must have been done by aBehr bulletless gun. "

"A bulletless gun?" I repeated. 

"Yes, a sort of pistol with a spring-operated device that projectsa sharp blade with great force. No bullet and no powder are usedin it. But when it is placed directly over a vital point of theskull so that the aim is unerring, a trigger lets a long knifeshoot out with tremendous force, and death is instantaneous. "

Near the door, leading to the courtyard that opened on the sidestreet, were some spots of blood. They were so far from the placewhere the valet had discovered the body of the chef that therecould be no doubt that they were blood from the murderer himself. Kennedy's reasoning in the matter seemed irresistible. 

He looked under the table near the door, covered with a largelight cloth. Beneath the table and behind the cloth he foundanother blood spot. 

"How did that land there?" he mused aloud. "The table-cloth isbloodless. "

Craig appeared to think a moment. Then he unlocked and opened thedoor. A current of air was created and blew the cloth aside. 

"Clearly, " he exclaimed, "that drop of blood was wafted under thetable as the door was opened. The chances are all that it camefrom a cut on perhaps the hand or face of the murderer himself. "

It seemed to be entirely reasonable, for the bloodstains about theroom were such as to indicate that he had been badly cut by thecarving-knife. 

"Whoever attacked the chef must have been deeply wounded, " Iremarked, picking up the bloody knife and looking about at thestains, comparatively few of which could have come from the onedeep fatal wound in the head of the victim. 

Kennedy was still engrossed in a study of the stains, evidentlyconsidering that their size, shape, and location might throw somelight on what had occurred. "Walter, " he said finally, "while I'mbusy here, I wish you would find that valet, Edward. I want totalk to him. "

I found him at last, a clean-cut young fellow of much aboveaverage intelligence. 

"There are some things I have not yet got clearly, Edward, " beganKennedy. "Now where was the body, exactly, when you opened thedoor?"

Edward pointed out the exact spot, near the side of the kitchentoward the door leading out to the breakfast room and opposite theice-box. 

"And the door to the side street?" asked Kennedy, to allappearances very favorably impressed by the young man. 

"It was locked, sir, " he answered positively. 

Kennedy was quite apparently considering the honesty andfaithfulness of the servant. At last he leaned over and askedquickly, "Can I trust you?"

The frank, "Yes, " of the young fellow was convincing enough. 

"What I want, " pursued Kennedy, "is to have some one inside thishouse who can tell me as much as he can see of the visitors, themessengers that come here this morning. It will be an act ofloyalty to your employer, so that you need have no fear aboutthat. "

Edward bowed, and left us. While I had been seeking him, Kennedyhad telephoned hastily to his laboratory and had found one of hisstudents there. He had ordered him to bring down an apparatuswhich he described, and some other material. 

While we waited Kennedy sent word to Pitts that he wanted to seehim alone for a few minutes. 

The instrument appeared to be a rubber bulb and cuff with a rubberbag attached to the inside. From it ran a tube which ended inanother graduated glass tube with a thin line of mercury in itlike a thermometer. 

Craig adjusted the thing over the brachial artery of Pitts, justabove the elbow. 

"It may be a little uncomfortable, Mr. Pitts, " he apologised, "butit will be for only a few minutes. "

Pressure through the rubber bulb shut off the artery so thatKennedy could no longer feel the pulse at the wrist. As he worked, I began to see what he was after. The reading on the graded scaleof the height of the column of mercury indicated, I knew, bloodpressure. This time, as he worked, I noted also the flabby skin ofPitts as well as the small and sluggish pupils of his eyes. 

He completed his test in silence and excused himself, although aswe went back to the kitchen I was burning with curiosity. 

"What was it?" I asked. "What did you discover?"

"That, " he replied, "was a sphygmomanometer, something like thesphygmograph which we used once in another case. Normal bloodpressure is 125 millimetres. Mr. Pitts shows a high pressure, veryhigh. The large life insurance companies are now using thisinstrument. They would tell you that a high pressure like thatindicates apoplexy. Mr. Pitts, young as he really is, is actuallyold. For, you know, the saying is that a man is as old as hisarteries. Pitts has hardening of the arteries, arteriosclerosis--perhaps other heart and kidney troubles, in short pre-senility. "

Craig paused: then added sententiously as if to himself: "You haveheard the latest theories about old age, that it is due tomicrobic poisons secreted in the intestines and penetrating theintestinal walls? Well, in premature senility the symptoms are thesame as in senility, only mental acuteness is not so impaired. "

We had now reached the kitchen again. The student had also broughtdown to Kennedy a number of sterilised microscope slides and test-tubes, and from here and there in the masses of blood spotsKennedy was taking and preserving samples. He also took samples ofthe various foods, which he preserved in the sterilised tubes. 

While he was at work Edward joined us cautiously. 

"Has anything happened?" asked Craig. 

"A message came by a boy for Mrs. Pitts, " whispered the valet. 

"What did she do with it?"

"Tore it up. "

"And the pieces?"

"She must have hidden them somewhere. "

"See if you can get them. "

Edward nodded and left us. 

"Yes, " I remarked after he had gone, "it does seem as if the thingto do was to get on the trail of a person bearing wounds of somekind. I notice, for one thing, Craig, that Edward shows no suchmarks, nor does any one else in the house as far as I can see. Ifit were an 'inside job' I fancy Edward at least could clearhimself. The point is to find the person with a bandaged hand orplastered face. "

Kennedy assented, but his mind was on another subject. "Before wego we must see Mrs. Pitts alone, if we can, " he said simply. 

In answer to his inquiry through one of the servants she sent downword that she would see us immediately in her sitting-room. Theevents of the morning had quite naturally upset her, and she was, if anything, even paler than when we saw her before. 

"Mrs. Pitts, " began Kennedy, "I suppose you are aware of thephysical condition of your husband?"

It seemed a little abrupt to me at first, but he intended it tobe. "Why, " she asked with real alarm, "is he so very badly?"

"Pretty badly, " remarked Kennedy mercilessly, observing the effectof his words. "So badly, I fear, that it would not require muchmore excitement like to-day's to bring on an attack of apoplexy. Ishould advise you to take especial care of him, Mrs. Pitts. "

Following his eyes, I tried to determine whether the agitation ofthe woman before us was genuine or not. It certainly looked so. But then, I knew that she had been an actress before her marriage. Was she acting a part now?

"What do you mean?" she asked tremulously. 

"Mrs. Pitts, " replied Kennedy quickly, observing still the play ofemotion on her delicate features, "some one, I believe, eitherregularly in or employed in this house or who had a ready means ofaccess to it must have entered that kitchen last night. For whatpurpose, I can leave you to judge. But Sam surprised the intruderthere and was killed for his faithfulness. "

Her startled look told plainly that though she might havesuspected something of the sort she did not think that any oneelse suspected, much less actually perhaps knew it. 

"I can't imagine who it could be, unless it might be one of theservants, " she murmured hastily; adding, "and there is none ofthem that I have any right to suspect. "

She had in a measure regained her composure, and Kennedy felt thatit was no use to pursue the conversation further, perhaps exposehis hand before he was ready to play it. 

"That woman is concealing something, " remarked Kennedy to me as weleft the house a few minutes later. 

"She at least bears no marks of violence herself of any kind, " Icommented. 

"No, " agreed Craig, "no, you are right so far. " He added: "I shallbe very busy in the laboratory this afternoon, and probablylonger. However, drop in at dinner time, and in the meantime, don't say a word to any one, but just use your position on theStar to keep in touch with anything the police authorities may bedoing. "

It was not a difficult commission, since they did nothing butissue a statement, the net import of which was to let the publicknow that they were very active, although they had nothing toreport. 

Kennedy was still busy when I rejoined him, a little latepurposely, since I knew that he would be over his head in work. 

"What's this--a zoo?" I asked, looking about me as I entered thesanctum that evening. 

There were dogs and guinea pigs, rats and mice, a menagerie thatwould have delighted a small boy. It did not look like the sameold laboratory for the investigation of criminal science, though Isaw on a second glance that it was the same, that there was theusual hurly-burly of microscopes, test-tubes, and all theparaphernalia that were so mystifying at first but in the endunder his skilful hand made the most complicated cases seemstupidly simple. 

Craig smiled at my surprise. "I'm making a little study ofintestinal poisons, " he commented, "poisons produced by microbeswhich we keep under more or less control in healthy life. In deaththey are the little fellows that extend all over the body andputrefy it. We nourish within ourselves microbes which secretevery virulent poisons, and when those poisons are too much for us--well, we grow old. At least that is the theory of Metchnikoff, who says that old age is an infectious chronic, disease. Somehow, "he added thoughtfully, "that beautiful white kitchen in the Pittshome had really become a factory for intestinal poisons. "

There was an air of suppressed excitement in his manner which toldme that Kennedy was on the trail of something unusual. 

"Mouth murder, " he cried at length, "that was what was being donein that wonderful kitchen. Do you know, the scientific slaying ofhuman beings has far exceeded organised efforts at detection? Ofcourse you expect me to say that; you think I look at such thingsthrough coloured glasses. But it is a fact, nevertheless. 

"It is a very simple matter for the police to apprehend the commonmurderer whose weapon is a knife or a gun, but it is a differentthing when they investigate the death of a person who has been thevictim of the modern murderer who slays, let us say, with somekind of deadly bacilli. Authorities say, and I agree with them, that hundreds of murders are committed in this country every yearand are not detected because the detectives are not scientists, while the slayers have used the knowledge of the scientists bothto commit and to cover up the crimes. I tell you, Walter, a murderscience bureau not only would clear up nearly every poisonmystery, but also it would inspire such a wholesome fear amongwould-be murderers that they would abandon many attempts to takelife. "

He was as excited over the case as I had ever seen him. Indeed itwas one that evidently taxed his utmost powers. 

"What have you found?" I asked, startled. 

"You remember my use of the sphygmomanometer?" he asked. "In thefirst place that put me on what seems to be a clear trail. Themost dreaded of all the ills of the cardiac and vascular systemsnowadays seems to be arterio-sclerosis, or hardening of thearteries. It is possible for a man of forty-odd, like Mr. Pitts, to have arteries in a condition which would not be encounterednormally in persons under seventy years of age. 

"The hard or hardening artery means increased blood pressure, witha consequent increased strain on the heart. This may lead, has ledin this case, to a long train of distressing symptoms, and, ofcourse, to ultimate death. Heart disease, according to statistics, is carrying off a greater percentage of persons than formerly. This fact cannot be denied, and it is attributed largely to worry, the abnormal rush of the life of to-day, and sometimes to faultymethods of eating and bad nutrition. On the surface, these naturalcauses might seem to be at work with Mr. Pitts. But, Walter, I donot believe it, I do not believe it. There is more than that, here. Come, I can do nothing more to-night, until I learn morefrom these animals and the cultures which I have in these tubes. Let us take a turn or two, then dine, and perhaps we may get someword at our apartment from Edward. "

It was late that night when a gentle tap at the door proved thatKennedy's hope had not been unfounded. I opened it and let inEdward, the valet, who produced the fragments of a note, torn andcrumpled. 

"There is nothing new, sir, " he explained, "except that Mrs. Pittsseems more nervous than ever, and Mr. Pitts, I think, is feeling alittle brighter. "

Kennedy said nothing, but was hard at work with puckered brows atpiecing together the note which Edward had obtained after huntingthrough the house. It had been thrown into a fireplace in Mrs. Pitts's own room, and only by chance had part of it beenunconsumed. The body of the note was gone altogether, but thefirst part and the last part remained. 

Apparently it had been written the very morning on which themurder was discovered. 

It read simply, "I have succeeded in having Thornton declared . .. "Then there was a break. The last words were legible, and were, ". .. Confined in a suitable institution where he can cause no futureharm. "

There was no signature, as if the sender had perfectly understoodthat the receiver would understand. 

"Not difficult to supply some of the context, at any rate, " musedKennedy. "Whoever Thornton may be, some one has succeeded inhaving him declared 'insane, ' I should supply. If he is in aninstitution near New York, we must be able to locate him. Edward, this is a very important clue. There is nothing else. "

Kennedy employed the remainder of the night in obtaining a list ofall the institutions, both public and private, within aconsiderable radius of the city where the insane might bedetained. 

The next morning, after an hour or so spent in the laboratoryapparently in confirming some control tests which Kennedy had laidout to make sure that he was not going wrong in the line ofinquiry he was pursuing, we started off in a series of flyingvisits to the various sanitaria about the city in search of aninmate named Thornton. 

I will not attempt to describe the many curious sights andexperiences we saw and had. I could readily believe that any onewho spent even as little time as we did might almost think thatthe very world was going rapidly insane. There were literallythousands of names in the lists which we examined patiently, goingthrough them all, since Kennedy was not at all sure that Thorntonmight not be a first name, and we had no time to waste on takingany chances. 

It was not until long after dusk that, weary with the search anddust-covered from our hasty scouring of the country in anautomobile which Kennedy had hired after exhausting the cityinstitutions, we came to a small private asylum up in Westchester. I had almost been willing to give it up for the day, to startafresh on the morrow, but Kennedy seemed to feel that the case wastoo urgent to lose even twelve hours over. 

It was a peculiar place, isolated, out-of-the-way, and guarded bya high brick wall that enclosed a pretty good sized garden. 

A ring at the bell brought a sharp-eyed maid to the door. 

"Have you--er--any one here named Thornton--er--?" Kennedy pausedin such a way that if it were the last name he might come to afull stop, and if it were a first name he could go on. 

"There is a Mr. Thornton who came yesterday, " she snappedungraciously, "but you can not see him, It's against the rules. "

"Yes--yesterday, " repeated Kennedy eagerly, ignoring her tartness. "Could I--" he slipped a crumpled treasury note into her hand--"could I speak to Mr. Thornton's nurse?"

The note seemed to render the acidity of the girl slightlyalkaline. She opened the door a little further, and we foundourselves in a plainly furnished reception room, alone. 

We might have been in the reception-room of a prosperous countrygentleman, so quiet was it. There was none of the raving, as faras I could make out. That I should have expected even in atwentieth century Bedlam, no material for a Poe story of Dr. Tarrand Professor Feather. 

At length the hall door opened, and a man entered, not aprepossessing man, it is true, with his large and powerful handsand arms and slightly bowed, almost bulldog legs. Yet he was notof that aggressive kind which would make a show of physicalstrength without good and sufficient cause. 

"You have charge of Mr. Thornton?" inquired Kennedy. 

"Yes, " was the curt response. 

"I trust he is all right here?"

"He wouldn't be here if he was all right, " was the quick reply. "And who might you be?"

"I knew him in the old days, " replied Craig evasively. "My friendhere does not know him, but I was in this part of Westchestervisiting and having heard he was here thought I would drop in, just for old time's sake. That is all. "

"How did you know he was here?" asked the man suspiciously. 

"I heard indirectly from a friend of mine, Mrs. Pitts. "

"Oh. "

The man seemed to accept the explanation at its face value. 

"Is he very--very badly?" asked Craig with well-feigned interest. 

"Well, " replied the man, a little mollified by a good cigar whichI produced, "don't you go a-telling her, but if he says the nameMinna once a day it is a thousand times. Them drug-dopes has somestrange delusions. "

"Strange delusions?" queried Craig. "Why, what do you mean?"

"Say, " ejaculated the man. "I don't know you, You come here sayingyou're friends of Mr. Thornton's. How do I know what you are?"

"Well, " ventured Kennedy, "suppose I should also tell you I am afriend of the man who committed him. "

"Of Dr. Thompson Lord?"

"Exactly. My friend here knows Dr. Lord very well, don't you, Walter?"

Thus appealed to I hastened to add, "Indeed I do. " Then, improvingthe opening, I hastened: "Is this Mr. Thornton violent? I thinkthis is one of the most quiet institutions I ever saw for so smalla place. "

The man shook his head. 

"Because, " I added, "I thought some drug fiends were violent andhad to be restrained by force, often. "

"You won't find a mark or a scratch on him, sir, " replied the man. "That ain't our system. "

"Not a mark or scratch on him, " repeated Kennedy thoughtfully. "Iwonder if he'd recognise me?"

"Can't say, " concluded the man. "What's more, can't try. It'sagainst the rules. Only your knowing so many he knows has got youthis far. You'll have to call on a regular day or by appointmentto see him, gentlemen. "

There was an air of finality about the last statement that madeKennedy rise and move toward the door with a hearty "Thank you, for your kindness, " and a wish to be remembered to "poor oldThornton. "

As we climbed into the car he poked me in the ribs. "Just as goodfor the present as if we had seen him, " he exclaimed. "Drug-fiend, friend of Mrs. Pitts, committed by Dr. Lord, no wounds. "

Then he lapsed into silence as we sped back to the city. 

"The Pitts house, " ordered Kennedy as we bowled along, afternoting by his watch that it was after nine. Then to me he added, "We must see Mrs. Pitts once more, and alone. "

We waited some time after Kennedy sent up word that he would liketo see Mrs. Pitts. At last she appeared. I thought she avoidedKennedy's eye, and I am sure that her intuition told her that hehad some revelation to make, against which she was steelingherself. 

Craig greeted her as reassuringly as he could, but as she satnervously before us, I could see that she was in reality pale, worn, and anxious. 

"We have had a rather hard day, " began Kennedy after the usualpolite inquiries about her own and her husband's health had been, I thought, a little prolonged by him. 

"Indeed?" she asked. "Have you come any closer to the truth?"

Kennedy met her eyes, and she turned away. 

"Yes, Mr. Jameson and I have put in the better part of the day ingoing from one institution for the insane to another. "

He paused. The startled look on her face told as plainly as wordsthat his remark had struck home. 

Without giving her a chance to reply, or to think of a verbalmeans of escape, Craig hurried on with an account of what we haddone, saying nothing about the original letter which had startedus on the search for Thornton, but leaving it to be inferred byher that he knew much more than he cared to tell. 

"In short, Mrs. Pitts, " he concluded firmly, "I do not need totell you that I already know much about the matter which you areconcealing. "

The piling up of fact on fact, mystifying as it was to me who hadas yet no inkling of what it was tending toward, proved too muchfor the woman who knew the truth, yet did not know how muchKennedy knew of it. Minna Pitts was pacing the floor wildly, allthe assumed manner of the actress gone from her, yet with thenative grace and feeling of the born actress playing unrestrainedin her actions. 

"You know only part of my story, " she cried, fixing him with hernow tearless eyes. "It is only a question of time when you willworm it all out by your uncanny, occult methods. Mr. Kennedy, Icast myself on you. "

X

THE TOXIN OF DEATH

The note of appeal in her tone was powerful, but I could not soreadily shake off my first suspicions of the woman. Whether or notshe convinced Kennedy, he did not show. 

"I was only a young girl when I met Mr. Thornton, " she raced on. "I was not yet eighteen when we were married. Too late, I foundout the curse of his life--and of mine. He was a drug fiend. Fromthe very first life with him was insupportable. I stood it as longas I could, but when he beat me because he had no money to buydrugs, I left him. I gave myself up to my career on the stage. Later I heard that he was dead--a suicide. I worked, day andnight, slaved, and rose in the profession--until, at last, I metMr. Pitts. "

She paused, and it was evident that it was with a struggle thatshe could talk so. 

"Three months after I was married to him, Thornton suddenlyreappeared, from the dead it seemed to me. He did not want meback. No, indeed. All he wanted was money. I gave him money, myown. Money, for I made a great deal in my stage days. But hisdemands increased. To silence him I have paid him thousands. Hesquandered them faster than ever. And finally, when it becameunbearable, I appealed to a friend. That friend has now succeededin placing this man quietly in a sanitarium for the insane. "

"And the murder of the chef?" shot out Kennedy. 

She looked from one to the other of us in alarm. "Before God, Iknow no more of that than does Mr. Pitts. "

Was she telling the truth? Would she stop at anything to avoid thescandal and disgrace of the charge of bigamy? Was there notsomething still that she was concealing? She took refuge in thelast resort--tears. 

Encouraging as it was to have made such progress, it did not seemto me that we were much nearer, after all, to the solution of themystery. Kennedy, as usual, had nothing to say until he wasabsolutely sure of his ground. He spent the greater part of thenext day hard at work over the minute investigations of hislaboratory, leaving me to arrange the details of a meeting heplanned for that night. 

There were present Mr. And Mrs. Pitts, the former in charge of Dr. Lord. The valet, Edward, was also there, and in a neighbouringroom was Thornton in charge of two nurses from the sanitarium. Thornton was a sad wreck of a man now, whatever he might have beenwhen his blackmail furnished him with an unlimited supply of hisfavourite drugs. 

"Let us go back to the very start of the case, " began Kennedy whenwe had all assembled, "the murder of the chef, Sam. "

It seemed that the mere sound of his voice electrified his littleaudience. I fancied a shudder passed over the slight form of Mrs. Pitts, as she must have realised that this was the point whereKennedy had left off, in his questioning her the night before. 

"There is, " he went on slowly, "a blood test so delicate that onemight almost say that he could identify a criminal by his veryblood-crystals--the fingerprints, so to speak, of his blood. Itwas by means of these 'hemoglobin clues, ' if I may call them so, that I was able to get on the right trail. For the fact is that aman's blood is not like that of any other living creature. Bloodof different men, of men and women differ. I believe that in timewe shall be able to refine this test to tell the exact individual, too. 

"What is this principle? It is that the hemoglobin or redcolouring-matter of the blood forms crystals. That has long beenknown, but working on this fact Dr. Reichert and Professor Brownof the University of Pennsylvania have made some wonderfuldiscoveries. 

"We could distinguish human from animal blood before, it is true. But the discovery of these two scientists takes us much further. By means of blood-crystals we can distinguish the blood of manfrom that of the animals and in addition that of white men fromthat of negroes and other races. It is often the only way ofdifferentiating between various kinds of blood. 

"The variations in crystals in the blood are in part of form andin part of molecular structure, the latter being discovered onlyby means of the polarising microscope. A blood-crystal is only onetwo-thousand-two-hundred-and-fiftieth of an inch in length and onenine-thousandth of an inch in breadth. And yet minute as thesecrystals are, this discovery is of immense medico-legalimportance. Crime may now be traced by blood-crystals. "

He displayed on his table a number of enlarged micro-photographs. Some were labelled, "Characteristic crystals of white man'sblood"; others "Crystallisation of negro blood"; still others, "Blood-crystals of the cat. "

"I have here, " he resumed, after we had all examined thephotographs and had seen that there was indeed a vast amount ofdifference, "three characteristic kinds of crystals, all of whichI found in the various spots in the kitchen of Mr. Pitts. Therewere three kinds of blood, by the infallible Reichert test. "

I had been prepared for his discovery of two kinds, but threeheightened the mystery still more. 

"There was only a very little of the blood which was that of thepoor, faithful, unfortunate Sam, the negro chef, " Kennedy went on. "A little more, found far from his body, is that of a whiteperson. But most of it is not human blood at all. It was the bloodof a cat. "

The revelation was startling. Before any of us could ask, hehastened to explain. 

"It was placed there by some one who wished to exaggerate thestruggle in order to divert suspicion. That person had indeed beenwounded slightly, but wished it to appear that the wounds werevery serious. The fact of the matter is that the carving-knife isspotted deeply with blood, but it is not human blood. It is theblood of a cat. A few years ago even a scientific detective wouldhave concluded that a fierce hand-to-hand struggle had been wagedand that the murderer was, perhaps, fatally wounded. Now, anotherconclusion stands, proved infallibly by this Reichert test. Themurderer was wounded, but not badly. That person even went out ofthe room and returned later, probably with a can of animal blood, sprinkled it about to give the appearance of a struggle, perhapsthought of preparing in this way a plea of self-defence. If thatlatter was the case, this Reichert test completely destroys it, clever though it was. " No one spoke, but the same thought wasopenly in all our minds. Who was this wounded criminal?

I asked myself the usual query of the lawyers and the detectives--Who would benefit most by the death of Pitts? There was but oneanswer, apparently, to that. It was Minna Pitts. Yet it wasdifficult for me to believe that a woman of her ordinarygentleness could be here to-night, faced even by so greatexposure, yet be so solicitous for him as she had been and then atthe same time be plotting against him. I gave it up, determiningto let Kennedy unravel it in his own way. 

Craig evidently had the same thought in his mind, however, for hecontinued: "Was it a woman who killed the chef? No, for the thirdspecimen of blood, that of the white person, was the blood of aman; not of a woman. "

Pitts had been following closely, his unnatural eyes now gleaming. "You said he was wounded, you remember, " he interrupted, as ifcasting about in his mind to recall some one who bore a recentwound. "Perhaps it was not a bad wound, but it was a woundnevertheless, and some one must have seen it, must know about it. It is not three days. "

Kennedy shook his head. It was a point that had bothered him agreat deal. 

"As to the wounds, " he added in a measured tone "although thisoccurred scarcely three days ago, there is no person even remotelysuspected of the crime who can be said to bear on his hands orface others than old scars of wounds. "

He paused. Then he shot out in quick staccato, "Did you ever hearof Dr. Carrel's most recent discovery of accelerating the healingof wounds so that those which under ordinary circumstances mighttake ten days to heal might be healed in twenty-four hours?"

Rapidly, now, he sketched the theory. "If the factors that bringabout the multiplication of cells and the growth of tissues werediscovered, Dr. Carrel said to himself, it would perhaps becomepossible to hasten artificially the process of repair of the body. Aseptic wounds could probably be made to cicatrise more rapidly. If the rate of reparation of tissue were hastened only ten times, a skin wound would heal in less than twenty-four hours and afracture of the leg in four or five days. 

"For five years Dr. Carrel has been studying the subject, applyingvarious extracts to wounded tissues. All of them increased thegrowth of connective tissue, but the degree of acceleration variedgreatly. In some cases it was as high, as forty times the normal. Dr. Carrel's dream of ten times the normal was exceeded byhimself. "

Astounded as we were by this revelation, Kennedy did not seem toconsider it as important as one that he was now hastening to showus. He took a few cubic centimetres of some culture which he hadbeen preparing, placed it in a tube, and poured in eight or tendrops of sulphuric acid. He shook it. 

"I have here a culture from some of the food that I found wasbeing or had been prepared for Mr. Pitts. It was in the icebox. "

Then he took another tube. "This, " he remarked, "is a one-to-one-thousand solution of sodium nitrite. "

He held it up carefully and poured three or four cubic centimetresof it into the first tube so that it ran carefully down the sidein a manner such as to form a sharp line of contact between theheavier culture with the acid and the lighter nitrite solution. 

"You see, " he said, "the reaction is very clear cut if you do itthis way. The ordinary method in the laboratory and the text-booksis crude and uncertain. "

"What is it?" asked Pitts eagerly, leaning forward with unwontedstrength and noting the pink colour that appeared at the junctionof the two liquids, contrasting sharply with the portions aboveand below. 

"The ring or contact test for indol, " Kennedy replied, withevident satisfaction. "When the acid and the nitrites are mixedthe colour reaction is unsatisfactory. The natural yellow tintmasks that pink tint, or sometimes causes it to disappear, if thetube is shaken. But this is simple, clear, delicate--unescapable. There was indol in that food of yours, Mr. Pitts. "

"Indol?" repeated Pitts. 

"Is, " explained Kennedy, "a chemical compound--one of the toxinssecreted by intestinal bacteria and responsible for many of thesymptoms of senility. It used to be thought that large doses ofindol might be consumed with little or no effect on normal man, but now we know that headache, insomnia, confusion, irritability, decreased activity of the cells, and intoxication are possiblefrom it. Comparatively small doses over a long time producechanges in organs that lead to serious results. 

"It is, " went on Kennedy, as the full horror of the thing sankinto our minds, "the indol-and phenol-producing bacteria which arethe undesirable citizens of the body, while the lactic-acidproducing germs check the production of indol and phenol. In mytests here to-day, I injected four one-hundredths of a grain ofindol into a guinea-pig. The animal had sclerosis or hardening ofthe aorta. The liver, kidneys, and supra-renals were affected, andthere was a hardening of the brain. In short, there were all thesymptoms of old age. "

We sat aghast. Indol! What black magic was this? Who put it in thefood?

"It is present, " continued Craig, "in much larger quantities thanall the Metchnikoff germs could neutralise. What the chef wasordered to put into the food to benefit you, Mr. Pitts, wasrendered valueless, and a deadly poison was added by what another--"

Minna Pitts had been clutching for support at the arms of herchair as Kennedy proceeded. She now threw herself at the feet ofEmery Pitts, "Forgive me, " she sobbed. "I can stand it no longer. I had triedto keep this thing about Thornton from you. I have tried to makeyou happy and well--oh--tried so hard, so faithfully. Yet that oldskeleton of my past which I thought was buried would not stayburied. I have bought Thornton off again and again, with money--mymoney--only to find him threatening again. But about this otherthing, this poison, I am as innocent, and I believe Thornton isas--"

Craig laid a gentle hand on her lips. She rose wildly and facedhim in passionate appeal. 

"Who--who is this Thornton?" demanded Emery Pitts. 

Quickly, delicately, sparing her as much as he could, Craighurried over our experiences. 

"He is in the next room, " Craig went on, then facing Pitts added:"With you alive, Emery Pitts, this blackmail of your wife mighthave gone on, although there was always the danger that you mighthear of it--and do as I see you have already done--forgive, andplan to right the unfortunate mistake. But with you dead, thisThornton, or rather some one using him, might take away from MinnaPitts her whole interest in your estate, at a word. The law, oryour heirs at law, would never forgive as you would. "

Pitts, long poisoned by the subtle microbic poison, stared atKennedy as if dazed. 

"Who was caught in your kitchen, Mr. Pitts, and, to escapedetection, killed your faithful chef and covered his own traces socleverly?" rapped out Kennedy. "Who would have known the newprocess of healing wounds? Who knew about the fatal properties ofindol? Who was willing to forego a one-hundred-thousand-dollarprize in order to gain a fortune of many hundreds of thousands?"

Kennedy paused, then finished with irresistibly dramatic logic;

"Who else but the man who held the secret of Minna Pitts's pastand power over her future so long as he could keep alive theunfortunate Thornton--the up-to-date doctor who substituted anelixir of death at night for the elixir of life prescribed for youby him in the daytime--Dr. Lord. "

Kennedy had moved quietly toward the door. It was unnecessary. Dr. Lord was cornered and knew it. He made no fight. In fact, instantly his keen mind was busy outlining his battle in court, relying on the conflicting testimony of hired experts. 

"Minna, " murmured Pitts, falling back, exhausted by theexcitement, on his pillows, "Minna--forgive? What is there toforgive? The only thing to do is to correct. I shall be well--soonnow--my dear. Then all will be straightened out. "

"Walter, " whispered Kennedy to me, "while we are waiting, you canarrange to have Thornton cared for at Dr. Hodge's Sanitarium. "

He handed me a card with the directions where to take theunfortunate man. When at last I had Thornton placed where no oneelse could do any harm through him, I hastened back to thelaboratory. 

Craig was still there, waiting alone. 

"That Dr. Lord will be a tough customer, " he remarked. "Of courseyou're not interested in what happens in a case after we havecaught the criminal. But that often is really only the beginningof the fight. We've got him safely lodged in the Tombs now, however. "

"I wish there was some elixir for fatigue, " I remarked, as weclosed the laboratory that night. 

"There is, " he replied. "A homeopathic remedy--more fatigue. "

We started on our usual brisk roundabout walk to the apartment. But instead of going to bed, Kennedy drew a book from thebookcase. 

"I shall read myself to sleep to-night, " he explained, settlingdeeply in his chair. 

As for me, I went directly to my room, planning that to-morrow Iwould take several hours off and catch up in my notes. 

That morning Kennedy was summoned downtown and had to interruptmore important duties in order to appear before Dr. Leslie in thecoroner's inquest over the death of the chef. Dr. Lord was heldfor the Grand Jury, but it was not until nearly noon that Craigreturned. 

We were just about to go out to luncheon, when the door buzzersounded. 

"A note for Mr. Kennedy, " announced a man in a police uniform, with a blue anchor edged with white on his coat sleeve. 

Craig tore open the envelope quickly with his forefinger. Headed"Harbour Police, Station No. 3, Staten Island, " was an urgentmessage from our old friend Deputy Commissioner O'Connor. 

"I have taken personal charge of a case here that is sufficientlyout of the ordinary to interest you, " I read when Kennedy tossedthe note over to me and nodded to the man from the harbour squadto wait for us. "The Curtis family wish to retain a privatedetective to work in conjunction with the police in investigatingthe death of Bertha Curtis, whose body was found this morning inthe waters of Kill van Kull. "

Kennedy and I lost no time in starting downtown with the policemanwho had brought the note. 

The Curtises, as we knew, were among the prominent families ofManhattan and I recalled having heard that at one time BerthaCurtis had been an actress, in spite of the means and socialposition of her family, from whom she had become estranged as aresult. 

At the station of the harbour police, O'Connor and another man, who was in a state of extreme excitement, greeted us almost beforewe had landed. 

"There have been some queer doings about here, " exclaimed thedeputy as he grasped Kennedy's hand, "but first of all let meintroduce Mr. Walker Curtis. "

In a lower tone as we walked up the dock O'Connor continued, "Heis the brother of the girl whose body the men in the launch at thestation found in the Kill this morning. They thought at first thatthe girl had committed suicide, making it doubly sure by jumpinginto the water, but he will not believe it and, --well, if you'lljust come over with us to the local undertaking establishment, I'dlike to have you take a look at the body and see if your opinioncoincides with mine. 

"Ordinarily, " pursued O'Connor, "there isn't much romance inharbour police work nowadays, but in this case some other elementsseem to be present which are not usually associated with violentdeaths in the waters of the bay, and I have, as you will see, thought it necessary to take personal charge of the investigation. 

"Now, to shorten the story as much as possible, Kennedy, you knowof course that the legislature at the last session enacted lawsprohibiting the sale of such drugs as opium, morphine, cocaine, chloral and others, under much heavier penalties than before. TheHealth authorities not long ago reported to us that dope was beingsold almost openly, without orders from physicians, at severalscores of places and we have begun a crusade for the enforcementof the law. Of course you know how prohibition works in manyplaces and how the law is beaten. The dope fiends seem to be doingthe same thing with this law. 

"Of course nowadays everybody talks about a 'system' controllingeverything, so I suppose people would say that there is a 'dopetrust. ' At any rate we have run up against at least a number ofplaces that seem to be banded together in some way, from thelowest down in Chinatown to one very swell joint uptown aroundwhat the newspapers are calling 'Crime Square. ' It is not thatthis place is pandering to criminals or the women of theTenderloin that interests us so much as that its patrons are menand women of fashionable society whose jangled nerves seem todemand a strong narcotic. 

"This particular place seems to be a headquarters for obtainingthem, especially opium and its derivatives. 

"One of the frequenters of the place was this unfortunate girl, Bertha Curtis. I have watched her go in and out myself, wild-eyed, nervous, mentally and physically wrecked for life. Perhaps twenty-five or thirty persons visit the place each day. It is run by aman known as 'Big Jack' Clendenin who was once an actor and, Ibelieve, met and fascinated Miss Curtis during her brief career onthe stage. He has an attendant there, a Jap, named Nichi Moto, whois a perfect enigma. I can't understand him on any reasonabletheory. A long time ago we raided the place and packed up a lot ofopium, pipes, material and other stuff. We found Clendenin there, this girl, several others, and the Jap. I never understood justhow it was but somehow Clendenin got off with a nominal fine and afew days later opened up again. We were watching the place, getting ready to raid it again and present such evidence thatClendenin couldn't possibly beat it, when all of a sudden alongcame this--this tragedy. "

We had at last arrived at the private establishment which wasdoing duty as a morgue. The bedraggled form that had been bandiedabout by the tides all night lay covered up in the cold dampbasement. Bertha Curtis had been a girl of striking beauty once. For a long time I gazed at the swollen features before I realisedwhat it was that fascinated and puzzled me about her. Kennedy, however, after a casual glance had arrived at at least a part ofher story. 

"That girl, " he whispered to me so that her brother could nothear, "has led a pretty fast life. Look at those nails, yellow anddark. It isn't a weak face, either. I wouldn't be surprised if thewhole thing, the Oriental glamour and all that, fascinated her asmuch as the drug. "

So far the case with its heartrending tragedy had all the earmarksof suicide. 

XI

THE OPIUM JOINT

O'Connor drew back the sheet which covered her and in the calf ofthe leg disclosed an ugly bullet hole. Ugly as it was, however, itwas anything but dangerous and seemed to indicate nothing as tothe real cause of her death. He drew from his pocket a slightlymisshapen bullet which had been probed from the wound and handedit to Kennedy, who examined both the wound and the bulletcarefully. It seemed to be an ordinary bullet except that in thepointed end were three or four little round, very shallow wells ordepressions only the minutest fraction of an inch deep. 

"Very extraordinary, " he remarked slowly. "No, I don't think thiswas a case of suicide. Nor was it a murder for money, else thejewels would have been taken. "

O'Connor looked approvingly at me. "Exactly what I said, " heexclaimed. "She was dead before her body was thrown into thewater. "

"No, I don't agree with you there, " corrected Craig, continuinghis examination of the body. "And yet it is not a case of drowningexactly, either. "

"Strangled?" suggested O'Connor. 

"By some jiu jitsu trick?" I put in, mindful of the queer-actingJap at Clendenin's. 

Kennedy shook his head. 

"Perhaps the shock of the bullet wound rendered her unconsciousand in that state she was thrown in, " ventured Walker Curtis, apparently much relieved that Kennedy coincided with O'Connor indisagreeing with the harbour police as to the suicide theory. 

Kennedy shrugged his shoulders and looked at the bullet again. "Itis very extraordinary, " was all he replied. "I think you said afew moments ago, O'Connor, that there had been some queer doingsabout here. What did you mean?"

"Well, as I said, the work of the harbour squad isn't ordinarilyvery remarkable. Harbour pirates aren't murderous as a rule anymore. For the most part they are plain sneak thieves or bogus junkdealers who work with dishonest pier watchmen and crooked canalboat captains and lighter hands. 

"But in this instance, " continued the deputy, his face knitting atthe thought that he had to confess another mystery to which he hadno solution, "it is something quite different. You know that allalong the shore on this side of the island are old, dilapidatedand, some of them, deserted houses. For several days the residentsof the neighbourhood have been complaining of strange occurrencesabout one place in particular which was the home of a wealthyfamily in a past generation. It is about a mile from here, facingthe road along the shore, and has in front of it and across theroad the remains of an old dock sticking out a few feet into thewater at high tide. 

"Now, as nearly as any one can get the story, there seems to havebeen a mysterious, phantom boat, very swift, without lights, andwith an engine carefully muffled down which has been coming up tothe old dock for the past few nights when the tide was highenough. A light has been seen moving on the dock, then suddenlyextinguished, only to reappear again. Who carried it and why, noone knows. Any one who has tried to approach the place has had ascare thrown into him which he will not easily forget. Forinstance, one man crept up and though he did not think he was seenhe was suddenly shot at from behind a tree. He felt the bulletpierce his arm, started to run, stumbled, and next morning woke upin the exact spot on which he had fallen, none the worse for hisexperience except that he had a slight wound that will prevent hisusing his right arm for some time for heavy work. 

"After each visit of the phantom boat there is heard, according tothe story of the few neighbours who have observed it, the tramp offeet up the overgrown stone walk from the dock and some have saidthat they heard an automobile as silent and ghostly as the boat. We have been all through the weird old house, but have foundnothing there, except enough loose boards and shutters to accountfor almost any noise or combination of noises. However, no one hassaid there was anything there except the tramp of feet going backand forth on the old pavements outside. Two or three times shotshave been heard, and on the dock where most of the allegedmysterious doings have taken place we have found one very newexploded shell of a cartridge. "

Craig took the shell which O'Connor drew from another pocket andtrying to fit the bullet and the cartridge together remarked "bothfrom a . 44, probably one of those old-fashioned, long-barrelledmakes. "

"There, " concluded O'Connor ruefully, "you know all we know of thething so far. "

"I may keep these for the present?" inquired Kennedy, preparing topocket the shell and the bullet, and from his very manner I couldsee that as a matter of fact he already knew a great deal moreabout the case than the police. "Take us down to this old houseand dock, if you please. "

Over and over, Craig paced up and down the dilapidated dock, hiskeen eyes fastened to the ground, seeking some clue, anything thatwould point to the marauders. Real persons they certainly were, and not any ghostly crew of the bygone days of harbour pirates, for there was every evidence of some one who had gone up and downthe walk recently, not once but many times. 

Suddenly Kennedy stumbled over what looked like a sardine tin can, except that it had no label or trace of one. It was lying in thethick long matted grass by the side of the walk as if it hadtumbled there and had been left unnoticed. 

Yet there was nothing so very remarkable about it in itself. Tincans were lying all about, those marks of decadent civilisation. But to Craig it had instantly presented an idea. It was a new can. The others were rusted. 

He had pried off the lid and inside was a blackish, viscous mass. 

"Smoking opium, " Craig said at last. 

We retraced our steps pondering on the significance of thediscovery. 

O'Connor had had men out endeavouring all day to get a clue to themotor car that had been mentioned in some of the accounts given bythe natives. So far the best he had been able to find was a reportof a large red touring car which crossed from New York on a lateferry. In it were a man and a girl as well as a chauffeur who woregoggles and a cap pulled down over his head so that he waspractically unrecognisable. The girl might have been Miss Curtisand, as for the man, it might have been Clendenin. No one hadbothered much with them; no one had taken their number; no one hadpaid any attention where they went after the ferry landed. Infact, there would have been no significance to the report if ithad not been learned that early in the morning on the first ferryfrom the lower end of the island to New Jersey a large red touringcar answering about the same description had crossed, with asingle man and driver but no woman. 

"I should like to watch here with you to-night, O'Connor, " saidCraig as we parted. "Meet us here. In the meantime I shall call onJameson with his well-known newspaper connections in the whitelight district, " here he gave me a half facetious wink, "to seewhat he can do toward getting me admitted to this gilded palace ofdope up there on Forty-fourth Street. "

After no little trouble Kennedy and I discovered our "hop joint"and were admitted by Nichi Moto, of whom we had heard. Kennedygave me a final injunction to watch, but to be very careful not toseem to watch. 

Nichi Moto with an eye to business and not to our absorbing morethan enough to whet our descriptive powers quickly conducted usinto a large room where, on single bamboo couches or bunks, rathertastefully made, perhaps half a dozen habitues lay stretched atfull length smoking their pipes in peace, or preparing them ingreat expectation from the implements on the trays before them. 

Kennedy relieved me of the responsibility of cooking the opium bydoing it for both of us and, incidentally, dropping a hint not toinhale it and to breathe as little of it as possible. Even then itmade me feel badly, though he must have contrived in some way toget even less of the stuff than I. A couple of pipes, and Kennedybeckoned to Nichi. 

"Where is Mr. Clendenin?" he asked familiarly. "I haven't seen himyet. "

The Japanese smiled his engaging smile. "Not know, " was all hesaid, and yet I knew the fellow at least knew better English, ifnot more facts. 

Kennedy had about started on our faking a third "pipe" when a new, unexpected arrival beckoned excitedly to Nichi. I could not catchall that was said but two words that I did catch were "the boss"and "hop toy, " the latter the word for opium. No sooner had theman disappeared without joining the smokers than Nichi seemed togrow very restless and anxious. Evidently he had received ordersto do something. He seemed anxious to close the place and getaway. I thought that some one might have given a tip that theplace was to be raided, but Kennedy, who had been closer, hadoverheard more than I had and among other things he had caught theword, "meet him at the same place. "

It was not long before we were all politely hustled out. 

"At least we know this, " commented Kennedy, as I congratulatedmyself on our fortunate escape, "Clendenin was not there, andthere is something doing to-night, for he has sent for Nichi. "

We dropped into our apartment to freshen up a bit against the longvigil that we knew was coming that night. To our surprise WalkerCurtis had left a message that he wished to see Kennedyimmediately and alone, and although I was not present I give thesubstance of what he said. It seemed that he had not wished totell O'Connor for fear that it would get into the papers and causean even greater scandal, but it had come to his knowledge a fewdays before the tragedy that his sister was determined to marry avery wealthy Chinese merchant, an importer of tea, named ChinJung. Whether or not this had any bearing on the case he did notknow. He thought it had, because for a long time, both when shewas on the stage and later, Clendenin had had a great influenceover her and had watched with a jealous eye the advances of everyone else. Curtis was especially bitter against Clendenin. 

As Kennedy related the conversation to me on our way over toStaten Island I tried to piece the thing together, but like one ofthe famous Chinese puzzles, it would not come out. I had to admitthe possibility that it was Clendenin who might have quarrelledover her attachment to Chin Jung, even though I have never yetbeen able to understand what the fascination is that someOrientals have over certain American girls. 

All that night we watched patiently from a vantage point of an oldshed near both the house and the decayed pier. It was weird in theextreme, especially as we had no idea what might happen if we hadsuccess and saw something. But there was no reward for ourpatience. Absolutely nothing happened. It was as though they knew, whoever they were, that we were there. During the hours thatpassed O'Connor whiled away the time in a subdued whisper now andthen in telling us of his experiences in Chinatown which he wasnow engaged in trying to clean up. From Chinatown, its dens, itsgamblers and its tongs we drifted to the legitimate businessinterests there, and I, at least, was surprised to find that therewere some of the merchants for whom even O'Connor had a great dealof respect. Kennedy evidently did not wish to violate in any waythe confidence of Walker Curtis, and mention of the name of ChinJung, but by a judicious question as to who the best men were inthe Celestial settlement he did get a list of half a dozen or sofrom O'Connor. Chin Jung was well up in the list. However, thenight wore away and still nothing happened. 

It was in the middle of the morning when we were taking a snatchof sleep in our own rooms uptown that the telephone began to ringinsistently. Kennedy, who was resting, I verily believe, merelyout of consideration for my own human frailties, was at thereceiver in an instant. It proved to be O'Connor. He had just goneback to his office at headquarters and there he had found a reportof another murder. 

"Who is it?" asked Kennedy, "and why do you connect it with thiscase?"

O'Connor's answer must have been a poser, judging from the look ofsurprise on Craig's face. "The Jap--Nichi Moto?" he repeated. "Andit is the same sort of non-fatal wound, the same evidence ofasphyxia, the same circumstances, even down to the red carreported by residents in the neighbourhood. "

Nothing further happened that day except this thickening of theplot by the murder of the peculiar-acting Nichi. We saw his bodyand it was as O'Connor said. 

"That fellow wasn't on the level toward Clendenin, " Craig musedafter we had viewed the second murder in the case. "The questionis, who and what was he working for?"

There was as yet no hint of answer, and our only plan was to watchagain that night. This time O'Connor, not knowing where thelightning would strike next, took Craig's suggestion and wedetermined to spend the time cruising about in the fastest of thepolice motor boats, while the force of watchers along the entireshore front of the city was quietly augmented and ordered to beextra vigilant. 

O'Connor at the last moment had to withdraw and let us go alone, for the worst, and not the unexpected, happened in his effort toclean up Chinatown. The war between the old rivals, the Hep SingTong and the On Leong Tong, those ancient societies oftroublemakers in the little district, had broken out afresh duringthe day and three Orientals had been killed already. 

It is not a particularly pleasant occupation cruising aimlessly upand down the harbour in a fifty-foot police boat, staunch and fastas she may be. 

Every hour we called at a police post to report and to keep intouch with anything that might interest us. It came at about twoo'clock in the morning and of all places, near the Battery itself. From the front of a ferry boat that ran far down on the Brooklynside, what looked like two flashlights gleamed out over the wateronce, then twice. 

"Headlights of an automobile, " remarked Craig, scarcely takingmore notice of it, for they might have simply been turned up anddown twice by a late returning traveller to test them. We wereourselves near the Brooklyn shore. Imagine our surprise to see ananswering light from a small boat in the river which was otherwiselightless. We promptly put out our own lights and with everycylinder working made for the spot where the light had flashed upon the river. There was something there all right and we went forit. 

On we raced after the strange craft, the phantom that had scaredStaten Island. For a mile or so we seemed to be gaining, but oneof our cylinders began to miss--the boat turned sharply around abend in the shore. We had to give it up as well as trying toovertake the ferry boat going in the opposite direction. 

Kennedy's equanimity in our apparent defeat surprised me. "Oh, it's nothing, Walter, " he said. "They slipped away to-night, but Ihave found the clue. To-morrow as soon as the Customs House isopen you will understand. It all centres about opium. "

At least a large part of the secret was cleared, too, as a resultof Kennedy's visit to the Customs House. After years of fightingwith the opium ring on the Pacific coast, the ring had tried to"put one over" on the revenue officers and smuggle the drug inthrough New York. 

It did not take long to find the right man among the revenueofficers to talk with. Nor was Kennedy surprised to learn thatNichi Moto had been in fact a Japanese detective, a sort of stoolpigeon in Clendenin's establishment working to keep the governmentin touch with the latest scheme. 

The finding of the can of opium on the scene of the murder ofBertha Curtis, and the chase after the lightless motor boat had atlast placed Kennedy on the right track. With one of the revenueofficers we made a quick trip to Brooklyn and spent the morninginspecting the ships from South American ports docked in theneighbourhood where the phantom boat had disappeared. 

From ship to ship we journeyed until at last we came to one onwhich, down in the chain locker, we found a false floor with alocker under that. There was a compartment six feet square and init lay, neatly packed, fourteen large hermetically sealedcylinders, each full of the little oblong tins such as Kennedy hadpicked up the other day--forty thousand dollars' worth of thestuff at one haul, to say nothing of the thousands that hadalready been landed at one place or another. 

It had been a good day's work, but as yet it had not caught theslayer or cleared up the mystery of Bertha Curtis. Some one orsomething had had a power over the girl to lure her on. Was itClendenin? The place in Forty-fourth Street, on inquiry, proved tobe really closed as tight as a drum. Where was he?

All the deaths had been mysterious, were still mysterious. BerthaCurtis had carried her secret with her to the grave to which shehad been borne, willingly it seemed, in the red car with theunknown companion and the goggled chauffeur. I found myself stillasking what possible connection she could have with smugglingopium. 

Kennedy, however, was indulging in no such speculations. It wasenough for him that the scene had suddenly shifted and in a mostunexpected manner. I found him voraciously reading practicallyeverything that was being printed in the papers about the revivalof the tong war. 

"They say much about the war, but little about the cause, " was hisdry comment. "I wish I could make up my mind whether it is due tothe closing of the joints by O'Connor, or the belief that one tongis informing on the other about opium smuggling. "

Kennedy passed over all the picturesque features in thenewspapers, and from it all picked out the one point that was mostimportant for the case which he was working to clear up. One tongused revolvers of a certain make; the other of a different make. The bullet which had killed Bertha Curtis and later Nichi Moto wasfrom a pistol like that of the Hep Sings. 

The difference in the makes of guns seemed at once to suggestsomething to Kennedy and instead of mixing actively in the war ofthe highbinders he retired to his unfailing laboratory, leaving meto pass the time gathering such information as I could. Once Idropped in on him but found him unsociably surrounded bymicroscopes and a very sensitive arrangement for takingmicrophotographs. Some of his negatives were nearly a foot indiameter, and might have been, for all I knew, pictures of thesurface of the moon. 

While I was there O'Connor came in. Craig questioned him about thewar of the tongs. 

"Why, " O'Connor cried, almost bubbling over with satisfaction, "this afternoon I was waited on by Chin Jung, you remember?--oneof the leading merchants down there. Of course you know thatChinatown doesn't believe in hurting business and it seems that heand some of the others like him are afraid that if the tong war isnot hushed up pretty soon it will cost a lot--in money. They aregoing to have an anniversary of the founding of the Chineserepublic soon and of the Chinese New Year and they are afraid thatif the war doesn't stop they'll be ruined. "

"Which tong does he belong to?" asked Kennedy, still scrutinisinga photograph through his lens. 

"Neither, " replied O'Connor. "With his aid and that of a Judge ofone of our courts who knows the Chinaman like a book we have had aconference this afternoon between the two tongs and the truce isrestored again for two weeks. "

"Very good, " answered Kennedy, "but it doesn't catch the murdererof Bertha Curtis and the Jap. Where is Clendenin, do you suppose?"

"I don't know, but it at least leaves me free to carry on thatcase. What are all these pictures?"

"Well, " began Kennedy, taking his glass from his eye and wiping itcarefully, "a Paris crime specialist has formulated a system foridentifying revolver bullets which is very like that of Dr. Bertillon for identifying human beings. "

He picked up a handful of the greatly enlarged photographs. "Theseare photographs of bullets which he has sent me. The barrel ofevery gun leaves marks on the bullet that are always the same forthe same barrel but never identical for two different barrels. Inthese big negatives every detail appears very distinctly and itcan be decided with absolute certainty whether a given bullet wasfired from a given revolver. Now, using this same method, I havemade similar greatly enlarged photographs of the two bullets thathave figured so far in this case. The bullet that killed MissCurtis shows the same marks as that which killed Nichi. "

He picked up another bunch of prints. "Now, " he continued, "takingup the firing pin of a rifle or the hammer of a revolver, you maynot know it but they are different in every case. Even among thesame makes they are different, and can be detected. 

"The cartridge in either a gun or revolver is struck at a pointwhich is never in the exact centre or edge, as the case may be, but is always the same for the same weapon. Now the end of thehammer when examined with the microscope bears certainirregularities of marking different from those of every other gunand the shell fired in it is impressed with the particularmarkings of that hammer, just as paper is by type. On makingmicrophotographs of firing pins or hammers, with special referenceto the rounded ends and also photographs of the correspondingrounded depressions in the primers fired by them it is forced onany one that cartridges fired by each individual rifle or pistolcan positively be identified. 

"You will see on the edge of the photographs I have made a roughsketch calling attention to the 'L'-shaped mark which is the chiefcharacteristic of this hammer, although there are other detailedmarkings which show well under the microscope but not well in aphotograph. You will notice that the characters on the firinghammer are reversed on the cartridge in the same way that a metaltype and the character printed by it are reversed as regards oneanother. Again, depressions on the end of the hammer become raisedcharacters on the cartridge, and raised characters on the hammerbecome depressions on the cartridge. 

"Look at some of these old photographs and you will see that theydiffer from this. They lack the 'L' mark. Some have circles, others a very different series of pits and elevations, a set ofcharacters when examined and measured under the microscope utterlydifferent from those in every other case. Each is unique, in itspits, lines, circles and irregularities. The laws of chance are asmuch against two of them having the same markings as they areagainst the thumb prints of two human subjects being identical. The firing-pin theory, which was used in a famous case in Maine, is just as infallible as the finger-print theory. In this casewhen we find the owner of the gun making an 'L' mark we shall havethe murderer. "

Something, I could see, was working on O'Connor's mind. "That'sall right, " he interjected, "but you know in neither case was thevictim shot to death. They were asphyxiated. "

"I was coming to that, " rejoined Craig. "You recall the peculiarmarking on the nose of those bullets? They were what is known asnarcotic bullets, an invention of a Pittsburg scientist. They havethe property of lulling their victims to almost instant slumber. Aslight scratch from these sleep-producing bullets is all that isnecessary, as it was in the case of the man who spied on the queerdoings on Staten Island. The drug, usually morphia, is carried intiny wells on the cap of the bullet, is absorbed by the system andacts almost instantly. "

The door burst open and Walker Curtis strode in excitedly. Heseemed surprised to see us all there, hesitated, then motioned toKennedy that he wished to see him. For a few moments they talkedand finally I caught the remark from Kennedy, "But, Mr. Curtis, Imust do it. It is the only way. "

Curtis gave a resigned nod and Kennedy turned to us. "Gentlemen, "he said, "Mr. Curtis in going over the effects of his sister hasfound a note from Clendenin which mentions another opium jointdown in Chinatown. He wished me to investigate privately, but Ihave told him it would be impossible. "

At the mention of a den in the district he was cleaning upO'Connor had pricked up his ears. "Where is it?" he demanded. 

Curtis mentioned a number on Dover Street. 

"The Amoy restaurant, " ejaculated O'Connor, seizing the telephone. A moment later he was arranging with the captain at the ElizabethStreet station for the warrants for an instant raid. 

XII

THE "DOPE TRUST"

As we hurried into Chinatown from Chatham Square we could see thatthe district was celebrating its holidays with long ropes offirecrackers, and was feasting to reed discords from the pipes ofits most famous musicians, and was gay with the hanging out ofmany sunflags, red with an eighteen-rayed white sun in the blueunion. Both the new tong truce and the anniversary were more thancause for rejoicing. 

Hurried though it was, the raid on the Hep Sing joint had beencarefully prepared by O'Connor. The house we were after was one ofthe oldest of the rookeries, with a gaudy restaurant on the secondfloor, a curio shop on the street level, while in the basement allthat was visible was a view of a huge and orderly pile of teachests. A moment before the windows of the dwellings above therestaurant had been full of people. All had faded away even beforethe axes began to swing on the basement door which had theappearance of a storeroom for the shop above. 

The flimsy outside door went down quickly. But it was only ablind. Another door greeted the raiders. The axes swung noisilyand the crowbars tore at the fortified, iron-clad, "ice box" doorinside. After breaking it down they had to claw their way throughanother just like it. The thick doors and tea chests piled upshowed why no sounds of gambling and other practices ever wereheard outside. 

Pushing aside a curtain we were in the main room. The scene wasone of confusion showing the hasty departure of the occupants. 

Kennedy did not stop here. Within was still another room, forsmokers, anything but like the fashionable place we had seenuptown. It was low, common, disgusting. The odour everywhere wasoffensive; everywhere was filth that should naturally breeddisease. It was an inferno reeking with unwholesome sweat andstill obscured with dense fumes of smoke. 

Three tiers of bunks of hardwood were built along the walls. Therewas no glamour here; all was sordid. Several Chinamen in variousstages of dazed indolence were jabbering in incoherent oblivion, astate I suppose of "Oriental calm. "

There, in a bunk, lay Clendenin. His slow and uncertain breathingtold of his being under the influence of the drug, and he lay onhis back beside a "layout" with a half-cooked pill still in thebowl of his pipe. 

The question was to wake him up. Craig began slapping him with awet towel, directing us how to keep him roused. We walked himabout, up and down, dazed, less than half sensible, dreaming, muttering, raving. 

A hasty exclamation from O'Connor followed as he drew from thescant cushions of the bunk a long-barreled pistol, a . 44 such asthe tong leaders used, the same make as had shot Bertha Curtis andNichi. Craig seized it and stuck it into his pocket. 

All the gamblers had fled, all except those too drugged to escape. Where they had gone was indicated by a door leading up to thekitchen of the restaurant. Craig did not stop but leaped upstairsand then down again into a little back court by means of a fire-escape. Through a sort of short alley we groped our way, or ratherthrough an intricate maze of alleys and a labyrinth of blindrecesses. We were apparently back of a store on Pell Street. 

It was the work of only a moment to go through another door andinto another room, filled with smoky, dirty, unpleasant, fetidair. This room, too, seemed to be piled with tea chests. Craigopened one. There lay piles and piles of opium tins, a veritablefortune in the drug. 

Mysterious pots and pans, strainers, wooden vessels, and testinginstruments were about. The odour of opium in the manufacture wasunmistakable, for smoking opium is different from the medicinaldrug. There it appeared the supplies of thousands of smokers allover the country were stored and prepared. In a corner a mass ofthe finished product lay weltering in a basin like treacle. Inanother corner was the apparatus for remaking yen-shee or once-smoked opium. This I felt was at last the home of the "dopetrust, " as O'Connor had once called it, the secret realm of a realopium king, the American end of the rich Shanghai syndicate. 

A door opened and there stood a Chinaman, stoical, secretive, indifferent, with all the Oriental cunning and cruelty hall-markedon his face. Yet there was a fascination and air of Easternculture about him in spite of that strange and typical Orientaldepth of intrigue and cunning that shone through, greatcharacteristics of the East. 

No one said a word as Kennedy continued to ransack the place. Atlast under a rubbish heap he found a revolver wrapped up looselyin an old sweater. Quickly, under the bright light, Craig drewClendenin's pistol, fitted a cartridge into it and fired at thewall. Again into the second gun he fitted another and a secondshot rang out. 

Out of his pocket came next the small magnifying glass and twounmounted microphotographs. He bent down over the exploded shells. 

"There it is, " cried Craig scarcely able to restrain himself withthe keenness of his chase, "there it is--the mark like an 'L. 'This cartridge bears the one mark, distinct, not possible to havebeen made by any other pistol in the world. None of the Hep Sings, all with the same make of weapons, none of the gunmen in theiremploy, could duplicate that mark. "

"Some bullets, " reported a policeman who had been rummagingfurther in the rubbish. 

"Be careful, man, " cautioned Craig. "They are doped. Lay themdown. Yes, this is the same gun that fired the shot at BerthaCurtis and Nichi Moto--fired narcotic bullets in order to stop anyone who interfered with the opium smuggling, without killing thevictim. "

"What's the matter?" asked O'Connor, arriving breathless from thegambling room after hearing the shots. The Chinaman stood, stillsilent, impassive. At sight of him O'Connor gasped out, "ChinJung!"

"Real tong leader, " added Craig, "and the murderer of the whitegirl to whom he was engaged. This is the goggled chauffeur of thered car that met the smuggling boat, and in which Bertha Curtisrode, unsuspecting, to her death. "

"And Clendenin?" asked Walker Curtis, not comprehending. 

"A tool--poor wretch. So keen had the hunt for him become that hehad to hide in the only safe place, with the coolies of hisemployer. He must have been in such abject terror that he hasalmost smoked himself to death. "

"But why should the Chinaman shoot my sister?" asked Walker Curtisamazed at the turn of events. 

"Your sister, " replied Craig, almost reverently, "wrecked thoughshe was by the drug, was at last conscience stricken when she sawthe vast plot to debauch thousands of others. It was from her thatthe Japanese detective in the revenue service got his information--and both of them have paid the price. But they have smashed thenew opium ring--we have captured the ring-leaders of the gang. "

Out of the maze of streets, on Chatham Square again, we lost notime in mounting to the safety of the elevated station before somemurderous tong member might seek revenge on us. 

The celebration in Chinatown was stilled. It was as though thenerves of the place had been paralysed by our sudden, sharp blow. 

A downtown train took me to the office to write a "beat, " for theStar always made a special feature of the picturesque in Chinatownnews. Kennedy went uptown. 

Except for a few moments in the morning, I did not see Kennedyagain until the following afternoon, for the tong war proved to besuch an interesting feature that I had to help lay out and directthe assignments covering its various details. 

I managed to get away again as soon as possible, however, for Iknew that it would not be long before some one else in troublewould commandeer Kennedy to untangle a mystery, and I wanted to beon the spot when it started. 

Sure enough, it turned out that I was right. Seated with him inour living room, when I came in from my hasty journey uptown inthe subway, was a man, tall, thick-set, with a crop of closelycurling dark hair, a sharp, pointed nose, ferret eyes, and areddish moustache, curled at the ends. I had no difficulty indeciding what he was, if not who he was. He was the typicaldetective who, for the very reason that he looked the part, destroyed much of his own usefulness. 

"We have lost so much lately at Trimble's, " he was saying, "thatit is long past the stage of being merely interesting. It isdownright serious--for me, at least. I've got to make good or losemy job. And I'm up against one of the cleverest shoplifters thatever entered a department-store, apparently. Only Heaven knows howmuch she has got away with in various departments so far, but whenit comes to lifting valuable things like pieces of jewelry whichrun into the thousands, that is too much. "

At the mention of the name of the big Trimble store I hadrecognised at once what the man was, and it did not need Kennedy'srapid-fire introduction of Michael Donnelly to tell me that he wasa department store detective. 

"Have you no clue, no suspicions?" inquired Kennedy. 

"Well, yes, suspicions, " measured Donnelly slowly. "For instance, one day not long ago a beautifully dressed and refined-lookingwoman called at the jewellery department and asked to see adiamond necklace which we had just imported from Paris. She seemedto admire it very much, studied it, tried it on, but finally wentaway without making up her mind. A couple of days later shereturned and asked to see it again. This time there happened to beanother woman beside her who was looking at some pendants. The twofell to talking about the necklace, according to the bestrecollection of the clerk, and the second woman began to examineit critically. Again the prospective buyer went away. But thistime after she had gone, and when he was putting the things backinto the safe, the clerk examined the necklace, thinking thatperhaps a flaw had been discovered in it which had decided thewoman against it. It was a replica in paste; probably substitutedby one of these clever and smartly dressed women for the realnecklace. "

Before Craig had a chance to put another question, the buzzer onour door sounded, and I admitted a dapper, soft-spoken man ofmiddle size, who might have been a travelling salesman or abookkeeper. He pulled a card from his case and stood facing us, evidently in doubt how to proceed. 

"Professor Kennedy?" he asked at length, balancing the pasteboardbetween his fingers. 

"Yes, " answered Craig. "What can I do for you?"

"I am from Shorham, the Fifth Avenue jeweller, you know, " he beganbrusquely, as he handed the card to Kennedy. "I thought I'd dropin to consult you about a peculiar thing that happened at thestore recently, but if you are engaged, I can wait. You see, wehad on exhibition a very handsome pearl dogcollar, and a few daysago two women came to--"

"Say, " interrupted Kennedy, glancing from the card to the face ofJoseph Bentley, and then at Donnelly. "What is this--a gatheringof the clans? There seems to be an epidemic of shoplifting. Howmuch were you stung for?"

"About twenty thousand altogether, " replied Bentley with ruefulfrankness. "Why? Has some one else been victimised, too?"

XIII

THE KLEPTOMANIAC

Quickly Kennedy outlined, with Donnelly's permission, the story wehad just heard. The two store detectives saw the humour of thesituation, as well as the seriousness of it, and fell to comparingnotes. 

"The professional as well as the amateur shop-lifter has alwayspresented to me an interesting phase of criminality, " remarkedKennedy tentatively, during a lull in their mutual commiseration. With thousands of dollars' worth of goods lying unprotected on thecounters, it is really no wonder that some are tempted to reachout and take what they want. "

"Yes, " explained Donnelly, "the shop-lifter is the department-store's greatest unsolved problem. Why, sir, she gets more plunderin a year than the burglar. She's costing the stores over twomillion dollars. And she is at her busiest just now with theseason's shopping in full swing. It's the price the stores have topay for displaying their goods, but we have to do it, and we areat the mercy of the thieves. I don't mean by that the occasionalshoplifter who, when she gets caught, confesses, cries, pleads, and begs to return the stolen article. They often get off. It isthe regulars who get the two million, those known to the police, whose pictures are, many of them, in the Rogues' Gallery, whosecareers and haunts are known to every probation officer. They aregetting away with loot that means for them a sumptuous living. "

"Of course we are not up against the same sort of swindlers thatyou are, " put in Bentley, "but let me tell you that when the bigjewelers do get up against anything of the sort they are upagainst it hard. "

"Have you any idea who it could be?" asked Kennedy, who had beenfollowing the discussion keenly. 

"Well, some idea, " spoke up Donnelly. "From what Bentley says Iwouldn't be surprised to find that it was the same person in bothcases. Of course you know how rushed all the stores are just now. It is much easier for these light-fingered individuals to operateduring the rush than at any other time. In the summer, forinstance, there is almost no shop-lifting at all. I thought thatperhaps we could discover this particular shoplifter by ordinarymeans, that perhaps some of the clerks in the jewellery departmentmight be able to identify her. We found one who said that hethought he might recognise one of the women if he saw her again. Perhaps you did not know that we have our own little rogues'gallery in most of the big department-stores. But there didn'thappen to be anything there that he recognised. So I took him downto Police Headquarters. Through plate after plate of picturesamong the shoplifters in the regular Rogues' Gallery the clerkwent. At last he came to one picture that caused him to stop. 'That is one of the women I saw in the store that day, ' he said. 'I'm sure of it. '"

Donnelly produced a copy of the Bertillon picture. 

"What?" exclaimed Bentley, as he glanced at it and then at thename and history on the back. "Annie Grayson? Why, she is known asthe queen of shoplifters. She has operated from Christie's inLondon to the little curio-shops of San Francisco. She has workedunder a dozen aliases and has the art of alibi down to perfection. Oh, I've heard of her many times before. I wonder if she really isthe person we're looking for. They say that Annie Grayson hasforgotten more about shoplifting than the others will ever know. "

"Yes, " continued Donnelly, "and here's the queer part of it. Theclerk was ready to swear that he had seen the woman in the storeat some time or other, but whether she had been near the counterwhere the necklace was displayed was another matter. He wasn't sosure about that. "

"Then how did she get it?" I asked, much interested. 

"I don't say that she did get it, " cautioned Donnelly. "I don'tknow anything about it. That is why I am here consulting ProfessorKennedy. "

"Then who did get it, do you think?" I demanded. 

"We have a great deal of very conflicting testimony from thevarious clerks, " Donnelly continued. "Among those who are known tohave visited the department and to have seen the necklace isanother woman, of an entirely different character, well known inthe city. " He glanced sharply at us, as if to impress us with whathe was about to say, then he leaned over and almost whispered thename. "As nearly as I can gather out of the mass of evidence, Mrs. William Willoughby, the wife of the broker down in Wall Street, was the last person who was seen looking at the diamonds. "

The mere breath of such a suspicion would have been enough, without his stage-whisper method of imparting the information. Ifelt that it was no wonder that, having even a suspicion of thissort, he should be in doubt how to go ahead and should wishKennedy's advice. Ella Willoughby, besides being the wife of oneof the best known operators in high-class stocks and bonds, waswell known in the society columns of the newspapers. She lived inGlenclair, where she was a leader of the smarter set at both thechurch and the country club. The group who preserved this neatbalance between higher things and the world, the flesh and thedevil, I knew to be a very exclusive group, which, under the calmsuburban surface, led a sufficiently rapid life. Mrs. Willoughby, in addition to being a leader, was a very striking woman and abeautiful dresser, who set a fast pace for the semi-millionaireswho composed the group. 

Here indeed was a puzzle at the very start of the case. It was inall probability Mrs. Willoughby who had looked at the jewels inboth cases. On the other hand, it was Annie Grayson who had beenseen on at least one occasion, yet apparently had had nothingwhatever to do with the missing jewels, at least not so far as anytangible evidence yet showed. More than that, Donnelly vouchsafedthe information that he had gone further and that some of the menwork-ing under him had endeavoured to follow the movements of thetwo women and had found what looked to be a curious crossing oftrails. Both of them, he had found, had been in the habit ofvisiting, while shopping, the same little tea-room on Thirty-thirdStreet, though no one had ever seen them together there, and thecoincidence might be accounted for by the fact that many Glenclairladies on shopping expeditions made this tea-room a sort ofrendezvous. By inquiring about among his own fraternity Donnellyhad found that other stores also had reported losses recently, mostly of diamonds and pearls, both black and white. 

Kennedy had been pondering the situation for some time, scarcelyuttering a word. Both detectives were now growing restless, waiting for him to say something. As for me, I knew that ifanything were said or done it would be in Kennedy's own good time. I had learned to have implicit faith and confidence in him, for Idoubt if Craig could have been placed in a situation where hewould not know just what to do after he had looked over theground. 

At length he leisurely reached across the table for the suburbantelephone book, turned the pages quickly, snapped it shut, andobserved wearily and, as it seemed, irrelevantly: "The same oldtrouble again about accurate testimony. I doubt whether if Ishould suddenly pull a revolver and shoot Jameson, either of youtwo men could give a strictly accurate account of just whathappened. "

No one said anything, as he raised his hands from his habitualthinking posture with finger-tips together, placed both hands backof his head, and leaned back facing us squarely. 

"The first step, " he said slowly, "must be to arrange a 'plant. 'As nearly as I can make out the shoplifters or shoplifter, whichever it may prove to be, have no hint that any one iswatching them yet. Now, Donnelly, it is still very early. I wantyou to telephone around to the newspapers, and either in theTrimble advertisements or in the news columns have it announcedthat your jewellery department has on exhibition a new and specialimportation of South African stones among which is one--let mesee, let's call it the 'Kimberley Queen. ' That will soundattractive. In the meantime find the largest and most perfectpaste jewel in town and have it fixed up for exhibition andlabelled the Kimberley Queen. Give it a history if you can;anything to attract attention. I'll see you in the morning. Good-night, and thank you for coming to me with this case. "

It was quite late, but Kennedy, now thoroughly interested infollowing the chase, had no intention of waiting until the morrowbefore taking action on his own account. In fact he was justbeginning the evening's work by sending Donnelly off to arrangethe "plant. " No less interested in the case than himself, I neededno second invitation, and in a few minutes we were headed from ourrooms toward the laboratory, where Kennedy had apparatus to meetalmost any conceivable emergency. From a shelf in the corner hetook down an oblong oak box, perhaps eighteen inches in length, inthe front of which was set a circular metal disk with a sort ofpointer and dial. He lifted the lid of the box, and inside I couldsee two shiny caps which in turn he lifted, disclosing what lookedlike two good-sized spools of wire. Apparently satisfied with hisscrutiny, he snapped the lid shut and wrapped up the boxcarefully, consigning it to my care, while he hunted some copperwire. 

From long experience with Kennedy I knew better than to ask whathe had in mind to do. It was enough to know that he had already, in those few minutes of apparent dreaming while Donnelly andBentley were fidgeting for words, mapped out a complete course ofaction. 

We bent our steps toward the under-river tube, which carried a fewlate travellers to the railroad terminal where Kennedy purchasedtickets for Glenclair. I noticed that the conductor on thesuburban train eyed us rather suspiciously as though the mere factthat we were not travelling with commutation tickets at such anhour constituted an offence. Although I did not yet know theprecise nature of our adventure, I remembered with some misgivingthat I had read of police dogs in Glenclair which wereuncomfortably familiar with strangers carrying bundles. However, we got along all right, perhaps because the dogs knew that in atown of commuters every one was privileged to carry a bundle. 

"If the Willoughbys had been on a party line, " remarked Craig aswe strode up Woodridge Avenue trying to look as if it was familiarto us, "we might have arranged this thing by stratagem. As it is, we shall have to resort to another method, and perhaps better, since we shall have to take no one into our confidence. "

The avenue was indeed a fine thoroughfare, lined on both sideswith large and often imposing mansions, surrounded with trees andshrubbery, which served somewhat to screen them. We came at lastto the Willoughby house, a sizable colonial residence set up on ahill. It was dark, except for one dim light in an upper story. Inthe shadow of the hedge, Craig silently vaulted the low fence andslipped up the terraces, as noiselessly as an Indian, scarcelycrackling a twig or rustling a dead leaf on the ground. He pausedas he came to a wing on the right of the house. 

I had followed more laboriously, carrying the box and noting thathe was not looking so much at the house as at the sky, apparently. It did not take long to fathom what he was after. It was not astar-gazing expedition; he was following the telephone wire thatran in from the street to the corner of the house near which wewere now standing. A moment's inspection showed him where the wirewas led down, on the outside and entered through the top of awindow. 

Quickly he worked, though in a rather awkward position, attachingtwo wires carefully to the telephone wires. Next he relieved me ofthe oak box with its strange contents, and placed it under theporch where it was completely hidden by some lattice-work whichextended down to the ground on this side. Then he attached the newwires from the telephone to it and hid the connecting wires asbest he could behind the swaying runners of a vine. At last, whenhe had finished to his satisfaction, we retraced our steps, tofind that our only chance of getting out of town that night was bytrolley that landed us, after many changes, in our apartment inNew York, thoroughly convinced of the disadvantages of suburbandetective work. 

Nevertheless the next day found us out sleuthing about Glenclair, this time in a more pleasant role. We had a newspaper friend ortwo out there who was willing to introduce us about without askingtoo many questions. Kennedy, of course, insisted on beginning atthe very headquarters of gossip, the country club. 

We spent several enjoyable hours about the town, picking up a gooddeal of miscellaneous and useless information. It was, however, asKennedy had suspected. Annie Grayson had taken up her residence inan artistic little house on one of the best side streets of thetown. But her name was no longer Annie Grayson. She was Mrs. MaudEmery, a dashing young widow of some means, living in a very quietbut altogether comfortable style, cutting quite a figure in theexclusive suburban community, a leading member of the churchcircle, an officer of the Civic League, prominent in the women'sclub, and popular with those to whom the established order ofthings was so perfect that the only new bulwark of their rightswas an anti-suffrage society. In fact, every one was talking ofthe valuable social acquisition in the person of this attractiveyoung woman who entertained lavishly and was bracing up anotherwise drooping season. No one knew much about her, but then, that was not necessary. It was enough to accept one whose opinionsand actions were not subversive of the social order in any way. 

The Willoughbys, of course, were among the most prominent peoplein the town. William Willoughby was head of the firm of Willoughby& Walton, and it was the general opinion that Mrs. Willoughby wasthe head of the firm of Ella & William Willoughby. The Willoughbyswere good mixers, and were spoken well of even by the set whooccupied the social stratum just one degree below that in whichthey themselves moved. In fact, when Mrs. Willoughby had beenseverely injured in an automobile accident during the previoussummer Glenclair had shown real solicitude for her and hadforgotten a good deal of its artificiality in genuine humaninterest. 

Kennedy was impatiently waiting for an opportunity to recover thebox which he had left under the Willoughby porch. Several times wewalked past the house, but it was not until nightfall that heconsidered it wise to make the recovery. Again we slipped silentlyup the terraces. It was the work of only a moment to cut thewires, and in triumph Craig bore off the precious oak box and itsbatteries. 

He said little on our journey back to the city, but the moment wehad reached the laboratory he set the box on a table with anattachment which seemed to be controlled by pedals operated by thefeet. 

"Walter, " he explained, holding what looked like an earpiece inhis hand, "this is another of those new little instruments thatscientific detectives to-day are using. A poet might write aclever little verse en-titled, 'The telegraphone'll get you, ifyou don't watch out. ' This is the latest improved telegraphone, alittle electromagnetic wizard in a box, which we detectives arenow using to take down and 'can' telephone conversations and otherrecords. It is based on an entirely new principle in every waydifferent from the phonograph. It was discovered by an inventorseveral years ago, while experimenting in telephony. 

"There are no disks or cylinders of wax, as in the phonograph, buttwo large spools of extremely fine steel wire. The record is notmade mechanically on a cylinder, but electromagnetically on thiswire. Small portions of magnetism are imparted to fractions of thesteel wire as it passes between two carbon electric magnets. Eachimpression represents a sound wave. There is no apparentdifference in the wire, no surface abrasion or other change, yeteach particle of steel undergoes an electromagnetic transformationby which the sound is indelibly imprinted on it until it is wipedout by the erasing magnet. There are no cylinders to be shaved;all that is needed to use the wire again is to pass a magnet overit, automatically erasing any previous record that you do not wishto preserve. You can dictate into it, or, with this plug in, youcan record a telephone conversation on it. Even rust or otherdeterioration of the steel wire by time will not affect thiselectromagnetic registry of sound. It can be read as long as steelwill last. It is as effective for long distances as for short, andthere is wire enough on one of these spools for thirty minutes ofuninterrupted record. "

Craig continued to tinker tantalisingly with the machine. 

"The principle on which it is based, " he added, "is that a mass oftempered steel may be impressed with and will retain magneticfluxes varying in density and in sign in adjacent portions of itsmass. There are no indentations on the wire or the steel disk. Instead there is a deposit of magnetic impulse on the wire, whichis made by connecting up an ordinary telephone transmitter withthe electromagnets and talking through the coil. The disturbanceset up in the coils by the vibration of the diaphragm of thetransmitter causes a deposit of magnetic impulse on the wire, thecoils being connected with dry batteries. When the wire is againrun past these coils, with a receiver such as I have here incircuit with the coils, a light vibration is set up in thereceiver diaphragm which reproduces the sound of speech. "

He turned a switch and placed an ear-piece over his head, givingme another connected with it. We listened eagerly. There were noforeign noises in the machine, no grating or thumping sounds, ashe controlled the running off of the steel wire by means of afoot-pedal. 

We were listening to everything that had been said over theWilloughby telephone during the day. Several local calls totradesmen came first, and these we passed over quickly. Finally weheard the following conversation:

"Hello. Is that you, Ella? Yes, this is Maud. Good-morning. How doyou feel to-day?"

"Good-morning, Maud. I don't feel very well. I have a splittingheadache. "

"Oh, that's too bad, dear. What are you doing for it?"

"Nothing--yet. If it doesn't get better I shall have Mr. Willoughby call up Dr. Guthrie. "

"Oh, I hope it gets better soon. You poor creature, don't youthink a little trip into town might make you feel better? Had youthought of going to-day?"

"Why, no. I hadn't thought of going in. Are you going?"

"Did you see the Trimble ad. In the morning paper?"

"No, I didn't see the papers this morning. My head felt too bad. "

"Well, just glance at it. It will interest you. They have theKimberley Queen, the great new South African diamond on exhibitionthere. "

"They have? I never heard of it before, but isn't thatinteresting. I certainly would like to see it. Have you ever seenit?"

"No, but I have made up my mind not to miss a sight of it. Theysay it is wonderful. You'd better come along. I may have somethinginteresting to tell you, too. "

"Well, I believe I will go. Thank you, Maud, for suggesting it. Perhaps the little change will make me feel better. What train areyou going to take? The ten-two? All right, I'll try to meet you atthe station. Good-bye, Maud. "

"Good-bye, Ella. "

Craig stopped the machine, ran it back again and repeated therecord. "So, " he commented at the conclusion of the repetition, "the 'plant' has taken root. Annie Grayson has bitten at thebait. "

A few other local calls and a long-distance call from Mr. Willoughby cut short by his not finding his wife at home followed. Then there seemed to have been nothing more until after dinner. Itwas a call by Mr. Willoughby himself that now interested us. 

"Hello! hello! Is that you, Dr. Guthrie? Well, Doctor, this is Mr. Willoughby talking. I'd like to make an appointment for my wifeto-morrow. "

"Why, what's the trouble, Mr. Willoughby? Nothing serious, Ihope. "

"Oh, no, I guess not. But then I want to be sure, and I guess youcan fix her up all right. She complains of not being able to sleepand has been having pretty bad headaches now and then. "

"Is that so? Well, that's too bad. These women and theirheadaches--even as a doctor they puzzle me. They often go away assuddenly as they come. However, it will do no harm to see me. "

"And then she complains of noises in her ears, seems to hearthings, though as far as I can make out, there is nothing--atleast nothing that I hear. "

"Um-m, hallucinations in hearing, I suppose. Any dizziness?"

"Why, yes, a little once in a while. "

"How is she now?"

"Well, she's been into town this afternoon and is pretty tired, but she says she feels a little better for the excitement of thetrip. "

"Well, let me see. I've got to come down Woodridge Avenue to see apatient in a few minutes anyhow. Suppose I just drop off at yourplace?"

"That will be fine. You don't think it is anything serious, doyou, Doctor?"

"Oh, no. Probably it's her nerves. Perhaps a little rest would doher good. We'll see. "

The telegraphone stopped, and that seemed to be the lastconversation recorded. So far we had learned nothing verystartling, I thought, and was just a little disappointed. Kennedyseemed well satisfied, however. 

Our own telephone rang, and it proved to be Donnelly on the wire. He had been trying to get Kennedy all day, in order to report thatat various times his men at Trimble's had observed Mrs. Willoughbyand later Annie Grayson looking with much interest at theKimberley Queen, and other jewels in the exhibit. There wasnothing more to report. 

"Keep it on view another day or two, " ordered Kennedy. "Advertiseit, but in a quiet way. We don't want too many people interested. I'll see you in the morning at the store--early. "

"I think I'll just run back to Glenclair again to-night, " remarkedKennedy as he hung up the receiver. "You needn't bother aboutcoming, Walter. I want to see Dr. Guthrie a moment. You rememberhim? We met him to-day at the country club, a kindly looking, middle-aged fellow?"

I would willingly have gone back with him, but I felt that I couldbe of no particular use. While he was gone I pondered a good dealover the situation. Twice, at least, previously some one hadpilfered jewellery from stores, leaving in its place worthlessimitations. Twice the evidence had been so conflicting that no onecould judge of its value. What reason, I asked myself, was thereto suppose that it would be different now? No shoplifter in hersenses was likely to lift the great Kimberley Queen gem with theeagle eyes of clerks and detectives on her, even if she did notdiscover that it was only a paste jewel. And if Craig gave thewoman, whoever she was, a good opportunity to get away with it, itwould be a case of the same conflicting evidence; or worse, noevidence. 

Yet the more I thought of it, the more apparent to me was it thatKennedy must have thought the whole thing out before. So far allthat had been evident was that he was merely preparing a "plant. "Still, I meant to caution him when he returned that one could notbelieve his eyes, certainly not his ears, as to what might happen, unless he was unusually skilful or lucky. It would not do to relyon anything so fallible as the human eye or ear, and I meant toimpress it on him. What, after all. Had been the net result of ouractivities so far? We had found next to nothing. Indeed, it wasall a greater mystery than ever. 

It was very late when Craig returned, but I gathered from thestill fresh look on his face that he had been successful inwhatever it was he had had in mind when he made the trip. 

"I saw Dr. Guthrie, " he reported laconically, as we prepared toturn in. "He says that he isn't quite sure but that Mrs. Willoughby may have a touch of vertigo. At any rate, he hasconsented to let me come out to-morrow with him and visit her as aspecialist in nervous diseases from New York. I had to tell himjust enough about the case to get him interested, but that will dono harm. I think I'll set this alarm an hour ahead. I want to getup early to-morrow, and if I shouldn't be here when you wake, you'll find me at Trimble's. "

XIV

THE CRIMEOMETER

The alarm wakened me all right, but to my surprise Kennedy hadalready gone, ahead of it. I dressed hurriedly, bolted an earlybreakfast, and made my way to Trimble's. He was not there, and Ihad about concluded to try the laboratory, when I saw him pullingup in a cab from which he took several packages. Donnelly hadjoined us by this time, and together we rode up in the elevator tothe jewelry department. I had never seen a department-store whenit was empty, but I think I should like to shop in one under thoseconditions. It seemed incredible to get into the elevator and godirectly to the floor you wanted. 

The jewelry department was in the front of the building on one ofthe upper floors, with wide windows through which the brightmorning light streamed attractively on the glittering wares thatthe clerks were taking out of the safes and disposing to theirbest advantage. The store had not opened yet, and we could workunhampered. 

From his packages, Kennedy took three black boxes. They seemed tohave an opening in front, while at one side was a little crank, which, as nearly as I could make out, was operated by clockworkreleased by an electric contact. His first problem seemed to be todispose the boxes to the best advantage at various angles aboutthe counter where the Kimberley Queen was on exhibition. With somuch bric-a-brac and other large articles about, it did not appearto be very difficult to conceal the boxes, which were perhaps fourinches square on the ends and eight inches deep. From the boxeswith the clockwork attachment at the side he led wires, centringat a point at the interior end of the aisle where we could see butwould hardly be observed by any one standing at the jewelrycounter. 

Customers had now begun to arrive, and we took a position in thebackground, prepared for a long wait. Now and then Donnellycasually sauntered past us. He and Craig had disposed the storedetectives in a certain way so as to make their presence lessobvious, while the clerks had received instructions how to actunder the circumstance that a suspicious person was observed. 

Once when Donnelly came up he was quite excited. He had justreceived a message from Bentley that some of the stolen property, the pearls, probably, from the dog collar that had been taken fromShorham's, had been offered for sale by a "fence" known to thepolice as a former confederate of Annie Grayson. 

"You see, that is one great trouble with them all, " he remarked, with his eye roving about the store in search of anythingirregular. "A shoplifter rarely becomes a habitual criminal untilafter she passes the age of twenty-five. If they pass that agewithout quitting, there is little hope of their getting rightagain, as you see. For by that time they have long since begun toconsort with thieves of the other sex. "

The hours dragged heavily, though it was a splendid chance toobserve at leisure the psychology of the shopper who looked atmuch and bought little, the uncomfortableness of the men who hadbeen dragged to the department store slaughter to say "Yes" andfoot the bills, a kaleidoscopic throng which might have beeninteresting if we had not been so intent on only one matter. 

Kennedy grasped my elbow in vise-like fingers. Involuntarily Ilooked down at the counter where the Kimberley Queen reposed inall the trappings of genuineness. Mrs. Willoughby had arrivedagain. 

We were too far off to observe distinctly just what was takingplace, but evidently Mrs. Willoughby was looking at the gem. Amoment later another woman sauntered casually up to the counter. Even at a distance I recognised Annie Grayson. As nearly as Icould make out they seemed to exchange remarks. The clerk answereda question or two, then began to search for something apparentlyto show them. Every one about them was busy, and, obedient toinstructions from Donnelly, the store detectives were in thebackground. 

Kennedy was leaning forward watching as intently as the distancewould permit. He reached over and pressed the button near him. 

After a minute or two the second woman left, followed shortly byMrs. Willoughby herself. We hurried over to the counter, andKennedy seized the box containing the Kimberley Queen. He examinedit carefully. A flaw in the paste jewel caught his eye. 

"There has been a substitution here, " he cried. "See! The pastejewel which we used was flawless; this has a little carbon spothere on the side. "

"One of my men has been detailed to follow each of them, "whispered Donnelly. "Shall I order them to bring Mrs. Willoughbyand Annie Grayson to the superintendent's office and have themsearched?"

"No, " Craig almost shouted. "That would spoil everything. Don'tmake a move until I get at the real truth of this affair. "

The case was becoming more than ever a puzzle to me, but there wasnothing left for me to do but to wait until Kennedy was ready toaccompany Dr. Guthrie to the Willoughby house. Several times hetried to reach the doctor by telephone, but it was not until themiddle of the afternoon that he succeeded. 

"I shall be quite busy the rest of the afternoon, Walter, "remarked Craig, after he had made his appointment with Dr. Guthrie. "If you will meet me out at the Willoughbys' at abouteight o'clock, I shall be much obliged to you. "

I promised, and tried to devote myself to catching up with mynotes, which were always sadly behind when Kennedy had animportant case. I did not succeed in accomplishing much, however. 

Dr. Guthrie himself met me at the door of the beautiful house onWoodridge Avenue and with a hearty handshake ushered me into thelarge room in the right wing outside of which we had placed thetelegraphone two nights before. It was the library. 

We found Kennedy arranging an instrument in the music-room whichadjoined the library. From what little knowledge I have ofelectricity I should have said it was, in part at least, agalvanometer, one of those instruments which register theintensity of minute electric currents. As nearly as I could makeout, in this case the galvanometer was so arranged that its actionswung to one side or the other a little concave mirror hung from aframework which rested on the table. Directly in front of it wasan electric light, and the reflection of the light was caught inthe mirror and focused by its concavity upon a point to one sideof the light. Back of it was a long strip of ground glass and anarrow point, attached to which was a pen which touched a roll ofpaper. 

On the large table in the library itself Kennedy had placed in thecentre a transverse board partition, high enough so that twopeople seated could see each other's faces and converse over it, but could not see each other's hands. On one side of the partitionwere two metal domes which were fixed to a board set on the table. On the other side, in addition to space on which he could write, Kennedy had arranged what looked like one of these new miniaturemoving-picture apparatuses operated by electricity. Indeed, I feltthat it must be that, for directly in front of it, hanging on thewall, in plain view of any one seated on the side of the tablecontaining the metal domes, was a large white sheet. 

The time for the experiment, whatever its nature might be, had atlast arrived, and Dr. Guthrie introduced Mr. And Mrs. Willoughbyto us as specialists whom he had persuaded with great difficultyto come down from New York. Mr. Willoughby he requested to remainoutside until after the tests. She seemed perfectly calm as shegreeted us, and looked with curiosity at the paraphernalia whichKennedy had installed in her library. Kennedy, who was puttingsome finishing touches on it, was talking in a low voice toreassure her. 

"If you will sit here, please, Mrs. Willoughby, and place yourhands on these two brass domes--there, that's it. This is just alittle arrangement to test your nervous condition. Dr. Guthrie, who understands it, will take his position outside in the music-room at that other table. Walter, just switch off that light, please. 

"Mrs. Willoughby, I may say that in testing, say, the memory, wepsychologists have recently developed two tests, the event test, where something is made to happen before a person's eyes and laterhe is asked to describe it, and the picture test, where a pictureis shown for a certain length of time, after which the patient isalso asked to describe what was in the picture. I have endeavouredto combine these two ideas by using the moving-picture machinewhich you see here. I am going to show three reels of films. "

As nearly as I could make out Kennedy had turned on the light inthe lantern on his side of the table. As he worked over themachine, which for the present served to distract Mrs. Willoughby's attention from herself, he was asking her a series ofquestions. From my position I could see that by the light of themachine he was recording both the questions and the answers, aswell as the time registered to the fifth of a second by a stop-watch. Mrs. Willoughby could not see what he was doing under thepretence of working over his little moving-picture machine. 

He had at last finished the questioning. Suddenly, without anywarning, a picture began to play on the sheet. I must say that Iwas startled myself. It represented the jewelry counter atTrimble's, and in it I could see Mrs. Willoughby herself inanimated conversation with one of the clerks. I looked intently, dividing my attention between the picture and the woman. But sofar as I could see there was nothing in this first film thatincriminated either of them. 

Kennedy started on the second without stopping. It was practicallythe same as the first, only taken from a different angle. 

He had scarcely run it half through when Dr. Guthrie opened thedoor. 

"I think Mrs. Willoughby must have taken her hands off the metaldomes, " he remarked; "I can get no record out here. "

I had turned when he opened the door, and now I caught a glimpseof Mrs. Willoughby standing, her hands pressed tightly to her headas if it were bursting, and swaying as if she would faint. I donot know what the film was showing at this point, for Kennedy witha quick movement shut it off and sprang to her side. 

"There, that will do, Mrs. Willoughby. I see that you are notwell, " he soothed. "Doctor, a little something to quiet hernerves. I think we can complete our work merely by comparingnotes. Call Mr. Willoughby, Walter. There, sir, if you will takecharge of your wife and perhaps take her for a turn or two in thefresh air, I think we can tell you in a few moments whether hercondition is in any way serious or not. "

Mrs. Willoughby was on the verge of hysterics as her husbandsupported her out of the room. The door had scarcely shut beforeKennedy threw open a window and seemed to beckon into thedarkness. As if from nowhere, Donnelly and Bentley sprang no andwere admitted. 

Dr. Guthrie had now returned from the music-room, bearing a sheetof paper on which was traced a long irregular curve at variouspoints on which marginal notes had been written hastily. 

Kennedy leaped directly into the middle of things with hischaracteristic ardour. "You recall, " he began, "that no one seemedto know just who took the jewels in both the cases you firstreported? 'Seeing is believing, ' is an old saying, but in the faceof such reports as you detectives gathered it is in a fair way tolose its force. And you were not at fault, either, for modernpsychology is proving by experiments that people do not see even afraction of the things they confidently believe they see. 

"For example, a friend of mine, a professor in a Westernuniversity, has carried on experiments with scores of people andhas not found one who could give a completely accurate descriptionof what he had seen, even in the direct testimony; while under theinfluence of questions, particularly if they were at all leading, witnesses all showed extensive inaccuracies in one or moreparticulars, and that even though they are in a more advantageousposition for giving reports than were your clerks who were notprepared. Indeed, it is often a wonder to me that witnesses ofordinary events who are called upon in court to relate what theysaw after a considerable lapse of time are as accurate as theyare, considering the questioning they often go through frominterested parties, neighbours and friends, and the constant andoften biased rehearsing of the event. The court asks the witnessto tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Howcan he? In fact, I am often surprised that there is such aresemblance between the testimony and the actual facts of thecase!

"But I have here a little witness that never lies, and, mindful ofthe fallibility of ordinary witnesses, I called it in. It is anew, compact, little motion camera which has just been perfectedto do automatically what the big moving-picture making camerasdo. "

He touched one of the little black boxes such as we had seen himinstall in the jewelry department at Trimble's. 

"Each of these holds one hundred and sixty feet of film, " heresumed, "enough to last three minutes, taking, say, sixteenpictures to the foot and running about one foot a second. You knowthat less than ten or eleven pictures a second affect the retinaas separate, broken pictures. The use of this compact littlemotion camera was suggested to me by an ingenious but cumbersomeinvention recently offered to the police in Paris--theinstallation on the clock-towers in various streets ofcinematograph apparatus directed by wireless. The motion camera asa detective has now proved its value. I have here three filmstaken at Trimble's, from different angles, and they clearly showexactly what actually occurred while Mrs. Willoughby and AnnieGrayson were looking at the Kimberley Queen. "

He paused as if analysing the steps in his own mind. "Thetelegraphone gave me the first hint of the truth, " he said. "Themotion camera brought me a step nearer, but without this thirdinstrument, while I should have been successful, I would not havegot at the whole truth. "

He was fingering the apparatus on the library table connected withthat in the music-room. "This is the psychometer for testingmental aberrations, " he explained. "The scientists who are usingit to-day are working, not with a view to aiding criminaljurisprudence, but with the hope of making such discoveries thatthe mental health of the race may be bettered. Still, I believethat in the study of mental diseases these men are furnishing theknowledge upon which future criminologists will build to make thedetection of crime an absolute certainty. Some day there will beno jury, no detectives, no witnesses, no attorneys. The state willmerely submit all suspects to tests of scientific instruments likethese, and as these instruments can not make mistakes or tell liestheir evidence will be conclusive of guilt or innocence. 

"Already the psychometer is an actual working fact. No living mancan conceal his emotions from the uncanny instrument. He may bringthe most gigantic of will-powers into play to conceal his innerfeelings and the psychometer will record the very work which hemakes this will-power do. 

"The machine is based upon the fact that experiments have provedthat the human body's resistance to an electrical current isincreased with the increase of the emotions. Dr. Jung, of Zurich, thought that it would be a very simple matter to record thesevarying emotions, and the psychometer is the result--simple andcrude to-day compared with what we have a right to expect in thefuture. 

"A galvanometer is so arranged that its action swings a mirrorfrom side to side, reflecting a light. This light falls on aground-glass scale marked off into centimetres, and the arrow ismade to follow the beam of light. A pen pressing down on a metaldrum carrying a long roll of paper revolved by machinery recordsthe variations. Dr. Guthrie, who had charge of the recording, simply sat in front of the ground glass and with the arrow pointfollowed the reflection of the light as it moved along the scale, in this way making a record on the paper on the drum, which I seehe is now holding in his hand. 

"Mrs. Willoughby, the subject, and myself, the examiner, sat here, facing each other over this table. Through those metal domes onwhich she was to keep her hands she received an electric currentso weak that it could not be felt even by the most sensitivenerves. Now with every increase in her emotion, either while I wasputting questions to her or showing her the pictures, whether sheshowed it outwardly or not, she increased her body's resistance tothe current that was being passed in through her hands. Theincrease was felt by the galvanometer connected by wires in themusic-room, the mirror swung, the light travelled on the scale, the arrow was moved by Dr. Guthrie, and her varying emotions wererecorded indelibly upon the revolving sheet of paper, recorded insuch a way as to show their intensity and reveal to the trainedscientist much of the mental condition of the subject. "

Kennedy and Dr. Guthrie now conversed in low tones. Once in awhile I could catch a scrap of the conversation--"not anepileptic, " "no abnormal conformation of the head, " "certainmental defects, " "often the result of sickness or accident. "

"Every time that woman appeared there was a most peculiardisturbance, " remarked Dr. Guthrie as Kennedy took the roll ofpaper from him and studied it carefully. 

At length the light seemed to break through his face. 

"Among the various kinds of insanity, " he said, slowly measuringhis words, "there is one that manifests itself as an irresistibleimpulse to steal. Such terms as neuropath and kleptomaniac areoften regarded as rather elegant names for contemptible excusesinvented by medical men to cover up stealing. People are prone tosay cynically, 'Poor man's sins; rich man's diseases. ' Yetkleptomania does exist, and it is easy to make it seem like crimewhen it is really persistent, incorrigible, and irrationalstealing. Often it is so great as to be incurable. Cases have beenrecorded of clergymen who were kleptomaniacs and in one instance adying victim stole the snuffbox of his confessor. 

"It is the pleasure and excitement of stealing, not the desire forthe object stolen, which distinguishes the kleptomaniac from theordinary thief. Usually the kleptomaniac is a woman, with aninsane desire to steal for the mere sake of stealing. The morbidcraving for excitement which is at the bottom of so manymotiveless and useless crimes, again and again has drivenapparently sensible men and women to ruin and even to suicide. Itis a form of emotional insanity, not loss of control of the will, but perversion of the will. Some are models in their lucidintervals, but when the mania is on them they cannot resist. Thevery act of taking constitutes the pleasure, not possession. Onemust take into consideration many things, for such diseases askleptomania belong exclusively to civilisation; they are theproduct of an age of sensationalism. Naturally enough, woman, withher delicately balanced nervous organisation, is the first andchief offender. "

Kennedy had seated himself at the table and was writing hastily. When he had finished, he held the papers in his hand to dry. 

He handed one sheet each to Bentley and Donnelly. We crowdedabout. Kennedy had simply written out two bills for the necklaceand the collar of pearls. 

"Send them in to Mr. Willoughby, " he added. "I think he will beglad to pay them to hush up the scandal. "

We looked at each other in amazement at the revelation. 

"But what about Annie Grayson?" persisted Donnelly. 

"I have taken care of her, " responded Kennedy laconically. "She isalready under arrest. Would you like to see why?"

A moment later we had all piled into Dr. Guthrie's car, standingat the door. 

At the cosy little Grayson villa we found two large eyeddetectives and a very angry woman waiting impatiently. Heaped upon a table in the living room was a store of loot that readilyaccounted for the ocular peculiarity of the detectives. 

The jumble on the table contained a most magnificent collection ofdiamonds, sapphires, ropes of pearls, emeralds, statuettes, andbronze and ivory antiques, books in rare bindings, and otherbaubles which wealth alone can command. It dazzled our eyes as wemade a mental inventory of the heap. Yet it was a mostmiscellaneous collection. Beside a pearl collar with a diamondclasp were a pair of plain leather slippers and a pair of silkstockings. Things of value and things of no value were mixed as ifby a lunatic. A beautiful neck ornament of carved coral lay near ahalf-dozen common linen handkerchiefs. A strip of silk hid avaluable collection of antique jewellery. Besides diamonds andprecious stones by the score were gold and silver ornaments, silks, satins, laces, draperies, articles of virtu, plumes, evencutlery and bric-a-brac. All this must have been the result ofcountless excursions to the stores of New York and innumerableclever thefts. 

We could only look at each other in amazement and wonder at thedefiance written on the face of Annie Grayson. 

"In all this strange tangle of events, " remarked Kennedy, surveying the pile with obvious satisfaction, "I find that theprecise instruments of science have told me one more thing. Someone else discovered Mrs. Willoughby's weakness, led her on, suggested opportunities to her, used her again and again, profitedby her malady, probably to the extent of thousands of dollars. Mytelegraphone record hinted at that. In some way Annie Graysonsecured the confidence of Mrs. Willoughby. The one took for thesake of taking; the other received for the sake of money. Mrs. Willoughby was easily persuaded by her new friend to leave herewhat she had stolen. Besides, having taken it, she had no furtherinterest in it. 

"The rule of law is that every one is responsible who knows thenature and consequences of his act. We have absolute proof thatyou, Annie Grayson, although you did not actually commit any ofthe thefts yourself, led Mrs. Willoughby on and profited by her. Dr. Guthrie will take care of the case of Mrs. Willoughby. But thelaw must deal with you for playing on the insanity of akleptomaniac--the cleverest scheme yet of the queen ofshoplifters. "

As Kennedy turned nonchalantly from the detectives who had seizedAnnie Grayson, he drew a little red folder from his pocket. 

"You see, Walter, " he smiled, "how soon one gets into a habit? I'malmost a regular commuter, now. You know, they are always bringingout these little red folders just when things grow interesting. "

I glanced over his shoulder. He was studying the local timetable. 

"We can get the last train from Glenclair if we hurry, " heannounced, stuffing the folder back into his pocket. "They willtake her to Newark by trolley, I suppose. Come on. "

We made our hasty adieux and escaped as best we could the showerof congratulations. 

"Now for a rest, " he said, settling back into the plush coveredseat for the long ride into town, his hat down over his eyes andhis legs hunched up against the back of the next seat. Across inthe tube and uptown in a nighthawk cab we went and at last we werehome for a good sleep. 

"This promises to be an off-day, " Craig remarked, the next morningover the breakfast table. "Meet me in the forenoon and we'll takea long, swinging walk. I feel the need of physical exercise. "

"A mark of returning sanity!" I exclaimed. 

I had become so used to being called out on the unexpected, now, that I almost felt that some one might stop us on our tramp. Nothing of the sort happened, however, until our return. 

Then a middle-aged man and a young girl, heavily veiled, werewaiting for Kennedy, as we turned in from the brisk finish in thecutting river wind along the Drive. 

"Winslow is my name, sir, " the man began, rising nervously as weentered the room, "and this is my only daughter, Ruth. "

Kennedy bowed and we waited for the man to proceed. He drew hishand over his forehead which was moist with perspiration in spiteof the season. Ruth Winslow was an attractive young woman, I couldsee at a glance, although her face was almost completely hidden bythe thick veil. 

"Perhaps, Ruth, I had better--ah--see these gentlemen alone?"suggested her father gently. 

"No, father, " she answered in a tone of forced bravery, "I thinknot. I can stand it. I must stand it. Perhaps I can help you intelling about the--the case. "

Mr. Winslow cleared his throat. 

"We are from Goodyear, a little mill-town, " he proceeded slowly, "and as you doubtless can see we have just arrived aftertravelling all day. "

"Goodyear, " repeated Kennedy slowly as the man paused. "The chiefindustry, of course, is rubber, I suppose. "

"Yes, " assented Mr. Winslow, "the town centres about rubber. Ourfactories are not the largest but are very large, nevertheless, and are all that keep the town going. It is on rubber, also, Ifear, that the tragedy which I am about to relate hangs. I supposethe New York papers have had nothing to say of the strange deathof Bradley Cushing, a young chemist in Goodyear who was formerlyemployed by the mills but had lately set up a little laboratory ofhis own?"

Kennedy turned to me. "Nothing unless the late editions of theevening papers have it, " I replied. 

"Perhaps it is just as well, " continued Mr. Winslow. "Theywouldn't have it straight. In fact, no one has it straight yet. That is why we have come to you. You see, to my way of thinkingBradley Cushing was on the road to changing the name of the townfrom Goodyear to Cushing. He was not the inventor of syntheticrubber about which you hear nowadays, but he had improved theprocess so much that there is no doubt that synthetic rubber wouldsoon have been on the market cheaper and better than the bestnatural rubber from Para. 

"Goodyear is not a large place, but it is famous for its rubberand uses a great deal of raw material. We have sent out some ofthe best men in the business, seeking new sources in SouthAmerica, in Mexico, in Ceylon, Malaysia and the Congo. What ourpeople do not know about rubber is hardly worth knowing, from thecrude gum to the thousands of forms of finished products. Goodyearis a wealthy little town, too, for its size. Naturally all itsinvestments are in rubber, not only in our own mills but incompanies all over the world. Last year several of our leadingcitizens became interested in a new concession in the Congogranted to a group of American capitalists, among whom was LewisBorland, who is easily the local magnate of our town. When thisgroup organised an expedition to explore the region preparatory totaking up the concession, several of the best known people inGoodyear accompanied the party and later subscribed for largeblocks of stock. 

"I say all this so that you will understand at the start just whatpart rubber plays in the life of our little community. You canreadily see that such being the case, whatever advantage the worldat large might gain from cheap synthetic rubber would scarcelybenefit those whose money and labour had been expended on theassumption that rubber would be scarce and dear. Naturally, then, Bradley Cushing was not precisely popular with a certain set inGoodyear. As for myself, I am frank to admit that I might haveshared the opinion of many others regarding him, for I have asmall investment in this Congo enterprise myself. But the fact isthat Cushing, when he came to our town fresh from his collegefellowship in industrial chemistry, met my daughter. "

Without taking his eyes off Kennedy, he reached over and pattedthe gloved hand that clutched the arm of the chair alongside hisown. "They were engaged and often they used to talk over what theywould do when Bradley's invention of a new way to polymeriseisoprene, as the process is called, had solved the rubber questionand had made him rich. I firmly believe that their dreams were notday dreams, either. The thing was done. I have seen his productsand I know something about rubber. There were no impurities in hisrubber. "

Mr. Winslow paused. Ruth was sobbing quietly. 

"This morning, " he resumed hastily, "Bradley Cushing was founddead in his laboratory under the most peculiar circumstances. I donot know whether his secret died with him or whether some one hasstolen it. From the indications I concluded that he had beenmurdered. "

Such was the case as Kennedy and I heard it then. 

Ruth looked up at him with tearful eyes wistful with pain, "WouldMr. Kennedy work on it?" There was only one answer. 

XV

THE VAMPIRE

As we sped out to the little mill-town on the last train, afterKennedy had insisted on taking us all to a quiet littlerestaurant, he placed us so that Miss Winslow was furthest fromhim and her father nearest. I could hear now and then scraps oftheir conversation as he resumed his questioning, and knew thatMr. Winslow was proving to be a good observer. 

"Cushing used to hire a young fellow of some scientificexperience, named Strong, " said Mr. Winslow as he endeavoured topiece the facts together as logically as it was possible to do. "Strong used to open his laboratory for him in the morning, cleanup the dirty apparatus, and often assist him in some of hisexperiments. This morning when Strong approached the laboratory atthe usual time he was surprised to see that though it was broaddaylight there was a light burning. He was alarmed and beforegoing in looked through the window. The sight that he saw frozehim. There lay Cushing on a workbench and beside him and aroundhim pools of coagulating blood. The door was not locked, as wefound afterward, but the young man did not stop to enter. He ranto me and, fortunately, I met him at our door. I went back. 

"We opened the unlocked door. The first thing, as I recall it, that greeted me was an unmistakable odour of oranges. It was avery penetrating and very peculiar odour. I didn't understand it, for there seemed to be something else in it besides the orangesmell. However, I soon found out what it was, or at least Strongdid. I don't know whether you know anything about it, but it seemsthat when you melt real rubber in the effort to reduce it tocarbon and hydrogen, you get a liquid substance which is known asisoprene. Well, isoprene, according to Strong, gives out an odoursomething like ether. Cushing, or some one else, had apparentlybeen heating isoprene. As soon as Strong mentioned the smell ofether I recognised that that was what made the smell of oranges sopeculiar. 

"However, that's not the point. There lay Cushing on his back onthe workbench, just as Strong had said. I bent over him, and inhis arm, which was bare, I saw a little gash made by some sharpinstrument and laying bare an artery, I think, which was cut. Longspurts of blood covered the floor for some distance around andfrom the veins in his arm, which had also been severed, a longstream of blood led to a hollow in the cement floor where it hadcollected. I believe that he bled to death. "

"And the motive for such a terrible crime?" queried Craig. 

Mr. Winslow shook his head helplessly. "I suppose there are plentyof motives, " he answered slowly, "as many motives as there are biginvestments in rubber-producing ventures in Goodyear. "

"But have you any idea who would go so far to protect hisinvestments as to kill?" persisted Kennedy. 

Mr. Winslow made no reply. "Who, " asked Kennedy, "was chieflyinterested in the rubber works where Cushing was formerlyemployed?"

"The president of the company is the Mr. Borland whom Imentioned, " replied Mr. Winslow. "He is a man of about forty, Ishould say, and is reputed to own a majority of the--"

"Oh, father, " interrupted Miss Winslow, who had caught the driftof the conversation in spite of the pains that had been taken tokeep it away from her, "Mr. Borland would never dream of such athing. It is wrong even to think of it. "

"I didn't say that he would, my dear, " corrected Mr. Winslowgently. "Professor Kennedy asked me who was chiefly interested inthe rubber works and Mr. Borland owns a majority of the stock. " Heleaned over and whispered to Kennedy, "Borland is a visitor at ourhome, and between you and me, he thinks a great deal of Ruth. "

I looked quickly at Kennedy, but he was absorbed in looking out ofthe car window at the landscape which he did not and could notsee. 

"You said there were others who had an interest in outsidecompanies, " cross-questioned Kennedy. "I take it that you meancompanies dealing in crude rubber, the raw material, people withinvestments in plantations and concessions, perhaps. Who are they?Who were the men who went on that expedition to the Congo withBorland which you mentioned?"

"Of course, there was Borland himself, " answered Winslow. "Thenthere was a young chemist named Lathrop, a very clever andambitious fellow who succeeded Cushing when he resigned from theworks, and Dr. Harris, who was persuaded to go because of hisfriendship for Borland. After they took up the concession Ibelieve all of them put money into it, though how much I can'tsay. "

I was curious to ask whether there were any other visitors at theWinslow house who might be rivals for Ruth's affections, but therewas no opportunity. 

Nothing more was said until we arrived at Goodyear. 

We found the body of Cushing lying in a modest little mortuarychapel of an undertaking establishment on the main street. Kennedyat once began his investigation by discovering what seemed to haveescaped others. About the throat were light discolourations thatshowed that the young inventor had been choked by a man with apowerful grasp, although the fact that the marks had escapedobservation led quite obviously to the conclusion that he had notmet his death in that way, and that the marks probably played onlya minor part in the tragedy. 

Kennedy passed over the doubtful evidence of strangulation for themore profitable examination of the little gash in the wrist. 

"The radial artery has been cut, " he mused. 

A low exclamation from him brought us all bending over him as hestooped and examined the cold form. He was holding in the palm ofhis hand a little piece of something that shone like silver. Itwas in the form of a minute hollow cylinder with two grooves onit, a cylinder so tiny that it would scarcely have slipped overthe point of a pencil. 

"Where did you find it?" I asked eagerly. 

He pointed to the wound. "Sticking in the severed end of a pieceof vein, " he replied, half to himself, "cuffed over the end of theradial artery which had been severed, and done so neatly as to bepractically hidden. It was done so cleverly that the inner liningsof the vein and artery, the endothelium as it is called, were incomplete contact with each other. "

As I looked at the little silver thing and at Kennedy's face, which betrayed nothing, I felt that here indeed was a mystery. What new scientific engine of death was that little hollowcylinder?

"Next I should like to visit the laboratory, " he remarked simply. 

Fortunately, the laboratory had been shut and nothing had beendisturbed except by the undertaker and his men who had carried thebody away. Strong had left word that he had gone to Boston, where, in a safe deposit box, was a sealed envelope in which Cushing kepta copy of the combination of his safe, which had died with him. There was, therefore, no hope of seeing the assistant until themorning. 

Kennedy found plenty to occupy his time in his minuteinvestigation of the laboratory. There, for instance, was the poolof blood leading back by a thin dark stream to the workbench andits terrible figure, which I could almost picture to myself lyingthere through the silent hours of the night before, with its lifeblood slowly oozing away, unconscious, powerless to save itself. There were spurts of arterial blood on the floor and on the nearbylaboratory furniture, and beside the workbench another smaller andisolated pool of blood. 

On a table in a corner by the window stood a microscope whichCushing evidently used, and near it a box of fresh sterilisedslides. Kennedy, who had been casting his eye carefully abouttaking in the whole laboratory, seemed delighted to find theslides. He opened the box and gingerly took out some of the littleoblong pieces of glass, on each of which he dropped a couple ofminute drops of blood from the arterial spurts and the venouspools on the floor. 

Near the workbench were circular marks, much as if some jars hadbeen set down there. We were watching him, almost in awe at thematter of fact manner in which, he was proceeding in what to uswas nothing but a hopeless enigma, when I saw him stoop and pickup a few little broken pieces of glass. There seemed to be bloodspots on the glass, as on other things, but particularlyinteresting to him. 

A moment later I saw that he was holding in his hand what wereapparently the remains of a little broken vial which he had fittedtogether from the pieces. Evidently it had been used and droppedin haste. 

"A vial for a local anesthetic, " he remarked. "This is the sort ofthing that might be injected into an arm or leg and deaden thepain of a cut, but that is all. It wouldn't affect theconsciousness or prevent any one from resisting a murderer to thelast. I doubt if that had anything directly to do with his death, or perhaps even that this is Cushing's blood on it. "

Unlike Winslow I had seen Kennedy in action so many times that Iknew it was useless to speculate. But I was fascinated, for thedeeper we got into the case, the more unusual and inexplicable itseemed. I gave that end of it up, but the fact that Strong hadgone to secure the combination of the safe suggested to me toexamine that article. There was certainly no evidence of robberyor even of an attempt at robbery there. 

"Was any doctor called?" asked Kennedy. 

"Yes, " he replied. "Though I knew it was of no use I called in Dr. Howe, who lives up the street from the laboratory. I should havecalled Dr. Harris, who used to be my own physician, but since hisreturn from Africa with the Borland expedition, he has not been invery good health and has practically given up his practice. Dr. Howe is the best practising physician in town, I think. "

"We shall call on him to-morrow, " said Craig, snapping his watch, which already marked far after midnight. Dr. Howe proved, the nextday, to be an athletic-looking man, and I could not help noticingand admiring his powerful frame and his hearty handshake, as hegreeted us when we dropped into his office with a card fromWinslow. 

The doctor's theory was that Cushing had committed suicide. 

"But why should a young man who had invented a new method ofpolymerising isoprene, who was going to become wealthy, and wasengaged to a beautiful young girl, commit suicide?"

The doctor shrugged his shoulders. It was evident that he, too, belonged to the "natural rubber set" which dominated Goodyear. 

"I haven't looked into the case very deeply, but I'm not so surethat he had the secret, are you?"

Kennedy smiled. "That is what I'd like to know. I suppose that anexpert like Mr. Borland could tell me, perhaps?"

"I should think so. "

"Where is his office?" asked Craig. "Could you point it out to mefrom the window?"

Kennedy was standing by one of the windows of the doctor's office, and as he spoke he turned and drew a little field glass from hispocket. "Which end of the rubber works is it?"

Dr. Howe tried to direct him but Kennedy appeared unwarrantablyobtuse, requiring the doctor to raise the window, and it was somemoments before he got his glasses on the right spot. 

Kennedy and I thanked the doctor for his courtesy and left theoffice. 

We went at once to the office of Dr. Harris, to whom Winslow hadalso given us cards. We found him an anaemic man, half asleep. Kennedy tentatively suggested the murder of Cushing. 

"Well, if you ask me my opinion, " snapped out the doctor, "although I wasn't called into the case, from what I hear, I'd saythat he was murdered. "

"Some seem to think it was suicide, " prompted Kennedy. 

"People who have brilliant prospects and are engaged to prettygirls don't usually die of their own accord, " rasped Harris. 

"So you think he really did have the secret of artificial rubber?"asked Craig. 

"Not artificial rubber. Synthetic rubber. It was the real thing, Ibelieve. "

"Did Mr. Borland and his new chemist Lathrop believe it, too?"

"I can't say. But I should surely advise you to see them. " Thedoctor's face was twitching nervously. 

"Where is Borland's office?" repeated Kennedy, again taking fromhis pocket the field glass and adjusting it carefully by thewindow. 

"Over there, " directed Harris, indicating the corner of the worksto which we had already been directed. 

Kennedy had stepped closer to the window before him and I stoodbeside him looking out also, "The cut was a very peculiar one, " remarked Kennedy, stilladjusting the glasses. "An artery and a vein had been placedtogether so that the endothelium, or inner lining of each, was incontact with the other, giving a continuous serous surface. Whichwindow did you say was Borland's? I wish you'd step to the otherwindow and raise it, so that I can be sure. I don't want to gowandering all over the works looking for him. "

"Yes, " the doctor said as he went, leaving him standing beside thewindow from which he had been directing us, "yes, you surelyshould see Mr. Borland. And don't forget that young chemist ofhis, Lathrop, either, If I can be of any more help to you, comeback again. "

It was a long walk through the village and factory yards to theoffice of Lewis Borland, but we were amply repaid by finding himin and ready to see us. Borland was a typical Yankee, tall, thin, evidently predisposed to indigestion, a man of tremendous mentaland nervous energy and with a hidden wiry strength. 

"Mr. Borland, " introduced Kennedy, changing his tactics andadopting a new role, "I've come down to you as an authority onrubber to ask you what your opinion is regarding the invention ofa townsman of yours named Cushing. "

"Cushing?" repeated Borland in some surprise. "Why--"

"Yes, " interrupted Kennedy, "I understand all about it. I hadheard of his invention in New York and would have put some moneyinto it if I could have been convinced. I was to see him to-day, but of course, as you were going to say, his death prevents it. Still, I should like to know what you think about it. "

"Well, " Borland added, jerking out his words nervously, as seemedto be his habit, "Cushing was a bright young fellow. He used towork for me until he began to know too much about the rubberbusiness. "

"Do you know anything about his scheme?" insinuated Kennedy. 

"Very little, except that it was not patented yet, I believe, though he told every one that the patent was applied for and heexpected to get a basic patent in some way without anyinterference. "

"Well, " drawled Kennedy, affecting as nearly as possible the airof a promoter, "if I could get his assistant, or some one who hadauthority to be present, would you, as a practical rubber man, goover to his laboratory with me? I'd join you in making an offer tohis estate for the rights to the process, if it seemed any good. "

"You're a cool one, " ejaculated Borland, with a peculiaravaricious twinkle in the corners of his eyes. "His body isscarcely cold and yet you come around proposing to buy out hisinvention and--and, of all persons, you come to me. "

"To you?" inquired Kennedy blandly. 

"Yes, to me. Don't you know that synthetic rubber would ruin thebusiness system that I have built up here?"

Still Craig persisted and argued. 

"Young man, " said Borland rising at length as if an idea hadstruck him, "I like your nerve. Yes, I will go. I'll show you thatI don't fear any competition from rubber made out of fusel oil orany other old kind of oil. " He rang a bell and a boy answered. "Call Lathrop, " he ordered. 

The young chemist, Lathrop, proved to be a bright and active manof the new school, though a good deal of a rubber stamp. Wheneverit was compatible with science and art, he readily assented toevery proposition that his employer laid down. 

Kennedy had already telephoned to the Winslows and Miss Winslowhad answered that Strong had returned from Boston. After a littleparleying, the second visit to the laboratory was arranged andMiss Winslow was allowed to be present with her father, afterKennedy had been assured by Strong that the gruesome relics of thetragedy would be cleared away. 

It was in the forenoon that we arrived with Borland and Lathrop. Icould not help noticing the cordial manner with which Borlandgreeted Miss Winslow. There was something obtrusive even in hissympathy. Strong, whom we met now for the first time, seemedrather suspicious of the presence of Borland and his chemist, butmade an effort to talk freely without telling too much. 

"Of course you know, " commenced Strong after proper urging, "thatit has long been the desire of chemists to synthesise rubber by amethod that will make possible its cheap production on a largescale. In a general way I know what Mr. Cushing had done, butthere are parts of the process which are covered in the patentsapplied for, of which I am not at liberty to speak yet. "

"Where are the papers in the case, the documents showing theapplication for the patent, for instance?" asked Kennedy. 

"In the safe, sir, " replied Strong. 

Strong set to work on the combination which he had obtained fromthe safe deposit vault. I could see that Borland and Miss Winslowwere talking in a low tone. 

"Are you sure that it is a fact?" I overheard him ask, though Ihad no idea what they were talking about. 

"As sure as I am that the Borland Rubber Works are a fact, " shereplied. 

Craig also seemed to have overheard, for he turned quickly. Borland had taken out his penknife and was moistening the bladecarefully preparing to cut into a piece Of the synthetic rubber. In spite of his expressed scepticism, I could see that he waseager to learn what the product was really like. 

Strong, meanwhile, had opened the safe and was going over thepapers. A low exclamation from him brought us around the littlepile of documents. He was holding a will in which nearlyeverything belonging to Cushing was left to Miss Winslow. 

Not a word was said, although I noticed that Kennedy moved quicklyto her side, fearing that the shock of the discovery might have abad effect on her, but she took it with remarkable calmness. Itwas apparent that Cushing had taken the step of his own accord andhad said nothing to her about it. 

"What does anything amount to?" she said tremulously at last. "Thedream is dead without him in it. "

"Come, " urged Kennedy gently. "This is enough for to-day. "

An hour later we were speeding back to New York. Kennedy had noapparatus to work with out at Goodyear and could not improvise it. Winslow agreed to keep us in touch with any new developmentsduring the few hours that Craig felt it was necessary to leave thescene of action. 

Back again in New York, Craig took a cab directly for hislaboratory, leaving me marooned with instructions not to botherhim for several hours. I employed the time in a little sleuthingon my own account, endeavouring to look up the records of thoseinvolved in the case. I did not discover much, except an interviewthat had been given at the time of the return of his expedition byBorland to the Star, in which he gave a graphic description of thedangers from disease that they had encountered. 

I mention it because, though it did not impress me much when Iread it, it at once leaped into my mind when the interminablehours were over and I rejoined Kennedy. He was bending over a newmicroscope. 

"This is a rubber age, Walter, " he began, "and the stories of menwho have been interested in rubber often sound like fiction. "

He slipped a slide under the microscope, looked at it and thenmotioned to me to do the same. "Here is a very peculiar culturewhich I have found in some of that blood, " he commented. "Thegerms are much larger than bacteria and they can be seen with acomparatively low power microscope swiftly darting between theblood cells, brushing them aside, but not penetrating them as someparasites, like that of malaria, do. Besides, spectroscope testsshow the presence of a rather well-known chemical in that blood. "

"A poisoning, then?" I ventured. "Perhaps he suffered from thedisease that many rubber workers get from the bisulphide ofcarbon. He must have done a good deal of vulcanising of his ownrubber, you know. "

"No, " smiled Craig enigmatically, "it wasn't that. It was anarsenic derivative. Here's another thing. You remember the fieldglass I used?"

He had picked it up from the table and was pointing at a littlehole in the side, that had escaped my notice before. "This is whatyou might call a right-angled camera. I point the glass out of thewindow and while you think I am looking through it I am reallyfocusing it on you and taking your picture standing there besideme and out of my apparent line of vision. It would deceive themost wary. "

Just then a long-distance call from Winslow told us that Borlandhad been to call on Miss Ruth and, in as kindly a way as could be, had offered her half a million dollars for her rights in the newpatent. At once it flashed over me that he was trying to getcontrol of and suppress the invention in the interests of his owncompany, a thing that has been done hundreds of times. Or could itall have been part of a conspiracy? And if it was his conspiracy, would he succeed in tempting his friend, Miss Winslow, to fall inwith this glittering offer?

Kennedy evidently thought, also, that the time for action hadcome, for without a word he set to work packing his apparatus andwe were again headed for Goodyear. 

XVI

THE BLOOD TEST

We arrived late at night, or rather in the morning, but in spiteof the late hour Kennedy was up early urging me to help him carrythe stuff over to Cushing's laboratory. By the middle of themorning he was ready and had me scouring about town collecting hisaudience, which consisted of the Winslows, Borland and Lathrop, Dr. Howe, Dr. Harris, Strong and myself. The laboratory wasdarkened and Kennedy took his place beside an electric movingpicture apparatus. 

The first picture was different from anything any of us had everseen on a screen before. It seemed to be a mass of little dancingglobules. "This, " explained Kennedy, "is what you would call aneducational moving picture, I suppose. It shows normal bloodcorpuscles as they are in motion in the blood of a healthy man. Those little round cells are the red corpuscles and the largerirregular cells are the white corpuscles. "

He stopped the film. The next picture was a sort of enlarged andelongated house fly, apparently, of sombre grey color, with anarrow body, thick proboscis and wings that overlapped like theblades of a pair of shears. "This, " he went on, "is a picture ofthe now well known tse-tse fly found over a large area of Africa. It has a bite something like a horse-fly and is a perfect blood-sucker. Vast territories of thickly populated, fertile countrynear the shores of lakes and rivers are now depopulated as aresult of the death-dealing bite of these flies, more deadly thanthe blood-sucking, vampirish ghosts with which, in the middleages, people supposed night air to be inhabited. For this flycarries with it germs which it leaves in the blood of its victims, which I shall show next. "

A new film started. 

"Here is a picture of some blood so infected. Notice that worm-like sheath of undulating membrane terminating in a slender whip-like process by which it moves about. That thing wriggling aboutlike a minute electric eel, always in motion, is known as thetrypanosome. 

"Isn't this a marvellous picture? To see the micro-organism move, evolve and revolve in the midst of normal cells, uncoil andundulate in the fluids which they inhabit, to see them play hideand seek with the blood corpuscles and clumps of fibrin, turn, twist, and rotate as if in a cage, to see these deadly littletrypanosomes moving back and forth in every direction displayingtheir delicate undulating membranes and shoving aside the bloodcells that are in their way while by their side the leucocytes, orwhite corpuscles, lazily extend or retract their pseudopods ofprotoplasm. To see all this as it is shown before us here is torealise that we are in the presence of an unknown world, a worldinfinitesimally small, but as real and as complex as that aboutus. With the cinematograph and the ultra-microscope we can seewhat no other forms of photography can reproduce. 

"I have secured these pictures so that I can better mass up theevidence against a certain person in this room. For in the bloodof one of you is now going on the fight which you have here seenportrayed by the picture machine. Notice how the blood corpusclesin this infected blood have lost their smooth, glossy appearance, become granular and incapable of nourishing the tissues. Thetrypanosomes are fighting with the normal blood cells. Here wehave the lowest group of animal life, the protozoa, at workkilling the highest, man. "

Kennedy needed nothing more than the breathless stillness toconvince him of the effectiveness of his method of presenting hiscase. 

"Now, " he resumed, "let us leave this blood-sucking, vampirishtse-tse fly for the moment. I have another revelation to make. "

He laid down on the table under the lights, which now flashed upagain, the little hollow silver cylinder, "This little instrument, " Kennedy explained, "which I have here isknown as a canula, a little canal, for leading off blood from theveins of one person to another--in other words, blood transfusion. Modern doctors are proving themselves quite successful in its use. 

"Of course, like everything, it has its own peculiar dangers. Butthe one point I wish to make is this: In the selection of a donorfor transfusion, people fall into definite groups. Tests of bloodmust be made first to see whether it 'agglutinates, ' and in thisrespect there are four classes of persons. In our case this matterhad to be neglected. For, gentlemen, there were two kinds of bloodon that laboratory floor, and they do not agglutinate. This, inshort, was what actually happened. An attempt was made totransfuse Cushing's blood as donor to another person as recipient. A man suffering from the disease caught from the bite of the tse-tse fly--the deadly sleeping sickness so well known in Africa--hasdeliberately tried a form of robbery which I believe to be withoutparallel. He has stolen the blood of another!

"He stole it in a desperate attempt to stay an incurable disease. This man had used an arsenic compound called atoxyl, till hisblood was filled with it and its effects on the trypanosomes nil. There was but one wild experiment more to try--the stolen blood ofanother. "

Craig paused to let the horror of the crime sink into our minds. 

"Some one in the party which went to look over the concession inthe Congo contracted the sleeping sickness from the bites of thoseblood-sucking flies. That person has now reached the stage ofinsanity, and his blood is full of the germs and overloaded withatoxyl. 

"Everything had been tried and had failed. He was doomed. He sawhis fortune menaced by the discovery of the way to make syntheticrubber. Life and money were at stake. One night, nerved up by afit of insane fury, with a power far beyond what one would expectin his ordinary weakened condition, he saw a light in Cushing'slaboratory. He stole in stealthily. He seized the inventor withhis momentarily superhuman strength and choked him. As theystruggled he must have shoved a sponge soaked with ether andorange essence under his nose. Cushing went under. 

"Resistance overcome by the anesthetic, he dragged the nowinsensible form to the work bench. Frantically he must haveworked. He made an incision and exposed the radial artery, thepulse. Then he must have administered a local anesthetic tohimself in his arm or leg. He secured a vein and pushed the cutend over this little canula. Then he fitted the artery of Cushingover that and the blood that was, perhaps, to save his life beganflowing into his depleted veins. 

"Who was this madman? I have watched the actions of those whom Isuspected when they did not know they were being watched. I did itby using this neat little device which looks like a field glass, but is really a camera that takes pictures of things at rightangles to the direction in which the glass seems to be pointed. One person, I found, had a wound on his leg, the wrapping of whichhe adjusted nervously when he thought no one was looking. He haddifficulty in limping even a short distance to open a window. "

Kennedy uncorked a bottle and the subtle odor of oranges mingledwith ether stole through the room. 

"Some one here will recognize that odour immediately. It is thenew orange-essence vapour anesthetic, a mixture of essence oforange with ether and chloroform. The odour hidden by the orangewhich lingered in the laboratory, Mr. Winslow and Mr. Strong, wasnot isoprene, but really ether. 

"I am letting some of the odour escape here because in this verylaboratory it was that the thing took place, and it is one of thewell-known principles of psychology that odours are powerfullysuggestive. In this case the odour now must suggest the terriblescene of the other night to some one before me. More than that, Ihave to tell that person that the blood transfusion did not andcould not save him. His illness is due to a condition that isincurable and cannot be altered by transfusion of new blood. Thatperson is just as doomed to-day as he was before he committed--"

A figure was groping blindly about. The arsenic compounds withwhich his blood was surcharged had brought on one of the attacksof blindness to which users of the drug are subject. In his insanefrenzy he was evidently reaching desperately for Kennedy himself. As he groped he limped painfully from the soreness of his wound. 

"Dr. Harris, " accused Kennedy, avoiding the mad rush at himself, and speaking in a tone that thrilled us, "you are the man whosucked the blood of Cushing into your own veins and left him todie. But the state will never be able to exact from you thepenalty of your crime. Nature will do that too soon for justice. Gentlemen, this is the murderer of Bradley Cushing, a maniac, amodern scientific vampire. "

I regarded the broken, doomed man with mingled pity and loathing, rather than with the usual feelings one has toward a criminal. 

"Come, " said Craig. "The local authorities can take care of thiscase now. "

He paused just long enough for a word of comfort to the poor, broken-hearted girl. Both Winslow answered with a mute look ofgratitude and despair. In fact, in the confusion we were only tooglad to escape any more such mournful congratulations. 

"Well, " Craig remarked, as we walked quickly down the street, "ifwe have to wait here for a train, I prefer to wait in the railroadstation. I have done my part. Now my only interest is to get awaybefore they either offer me a banquet or lynch me. "

Actually, I think he would have preferred the novelty of dealingwith a lynching party, if he had had to choose between the two. 

We caught a train soon, however, and fortunately it had a dinerattached. Kennedy whiled away the time between courses by readingthe graft exposures in the city. 

As we rolled into the station late in the afternoon, he tossedaside the paper with an air of relief. 

"Now for a quiet evening in the laboratory, " he exclaimed, almostgleefully. 

By what stretch of imagination he could call that recreation, Icould not see. But as for quietness, I needed it, too. I hadfallen wofully behind in my record of the startling events throughwhich he was conducting me. Consequently, until late that night Ipecked away at my typewriter trying to get order out of the chaosof my hastily scribbled notes. Under ordinary circumstances, Iremembered, the morrow would have been my day of rest on the Star. I had gone far enough with Kennedy to realise that on thisassignment there was no such thing as rest. 

"District Attorney Carton wants to see me immediately at theCriminal Courts Building, Walter, " announced Kennedy, early thefollowing morning. 

Clothed, and as much in my right mind as possible after thearduous literary labours of the night before, I needed no urging, for Carton was an old friend of all the newspaper men. I joinedCraig quickly in a hasty ride down-town in the rush hour. 

On the table before the square-jawed, close-cropped, fightingprosecutor, whom I knew already after many a long and hard-foughtcampaign both before and after election, lay a little packagewhich had evidently come to him in the morning's mail by parcel-post. 

"What do you suppose is in that, Kennedy?" he asked, tapping itgingerly. "I haven't opened it yet, but I think it's a bomb. Wait--I'll have a pail of water sent in here so that you can open it, if you will. You understand such things. "

"No--no, " hastened Kennedy, "that's exactly the wrong thing to do. Some of these modern chemical bombs are set off in precisely thatway. No. Let me dissect the thing carefully. I think you may beright. It does look as if it might be an infernal machine. You seethe evident disguise of the roughly written address?"

Carton nodded, for it was that that had excited his suspicion inthe first place. Meanwhile, Kennedy, without further ceremony, began carefully to remove the wrapper of brown Manila paper, preserving everything as he did so. Carton and I instinctivelybacked away. Inside, Craig had disclosed an oblong wooden box. 

"I realise that opening a bomb is dangerous business, " he pursuedslowly, engrossed in his work and almost oblivious to us, "but Ithink I can take a chance safely with this fellow. The dangerouspart is what might be called drawing the fangs. No bombs areexactly safe toys to have around until they are wholly destroyed, and before you can say you have destroyed one, it is rather aticklish business to take out the dangerous element. "

He had removed the cover in the deftest manner without friction, and seemingly without disturbing the contents in the least. I donot pretend to know how he did it; but the proof was that we couldsee him still working from our end of the room. 

On the inside of the cover was roughly drawn a skull and cross-bones, showing that the miscreant who sent the thing had at leasta sort of grim humour. For, where the teeth should have been inthe skull were innumerable match-heads. Kennedy picked them outwith as much sang-froid as if he were not playing jackstraws withlife and death. 

Then he removed the explosive itself and the various murderousslugs and bits of metal embedded in it, carefully separating eachas if to be labelled "Exhibit A, " "B, " and so on for a class inbomb dissection. Finally, he studied the sides and bottom of thebox. 

"Evidence of chlorate-of-potash mixture, " Kennedy muttered tohimself, still examining the bomb. "The inside was a veritablearsenal--a very unusual and clever construction. "

"My heavens!" breathed Carton. "I would rather go through acampaign again. "

XVII

THE BOMB MAKER

We stared at each other in blank awe, at the various parts, soinnocent looking in the heaps on the table, now safely separated, but together a combination ticket to perdition. 

"Who do you suppose could have sent it?" I blurted out when Ifound my voice, then, suddenly recollecting the political andlegal fight that Carton was engaged in at the time, I added, "Thewhite slavers?"

"Not a doubt, " he returned laconically. "And, " he exclaimed, bringing down both hands vigorously in characteristic emphasis onthe arms of his office chair, "I've got to win this fight againstthe vice trust, as I call it, or the whole work of the districtattorney's office in clearing up the city will be discredited--tosay nothing of the risk the present incumbent runs at having suchgrateful friends about the city send marks of their affection andesteem like this. "

I knew something already of the situation, and Carton continuedthoughtfully: "All the powers of vice are fighting a last-ditchbattle against me now. I think I am on the trail of the man or menhigher up in this commercialised-vice business--and it is abusiness, big business, too. You know, I suppose, that they seemto have a string of hotels in the city, of the worst character. There is nothing that they will stop at to protect themselves. Why, they are using gangs of thugs to terrorise any one whoinforms on them. The gunmen, of course, hate a snitch worse thanpoison. There have been bomb outrages, too--nearly a bomb a daylately--against some of those who look shaky and seem to be likelyto do business with my office. But I'm getting closer all thetime. "

"How do you mean?" asked Kennedy. 

"Well, one of the best witnesses, if I can break him down bypressure and promises, ought to be a man named Haddon, who isrunning a place in the Fifties, known as the Mayfair. Haddon knowsall these people. I can get him in half an hour if you think itworth while--not here, but somewhere uptown, say at the PrinceHenry. "

Kennedy nodded. We had heard of Haddon before, a notoriouscharacter in the white-light district. A moment later Carton hadtelephoned to the Mayfair and had found Haddon. 

"How did you get him so that he is even considering turningstate's evidence?" asked Craig. 

"Well, " answered Carton slowly, "I suppose it was partly through acabaret singer and dancer, Loraine Keith, at the Mayfair. You knowyou never get the truth about things in the underworld except inpieces. As much as any one, I think we have been able to use herto weave a web about him. Besides, she seems to think that Haddonhas treated her shamefully. According to her story, he seems tohave been lavishing everything on her, but lately, for somereason, has deserted her. Still, even in her jealousy she does notaccuse any other woman of winning him away. "

"Perhaps it is the opposite--another man winning her, " suggestedCraig dryly. 

"It's a peculiar situation, " shrugged Carton. "There is anotherman. As nearly as I can make out there is a fellow named Brodiewho does a dance with her. But he seems to annoy her, yet at thesame time exercises a sort of fascination over her. "

"Then she is dancing at the Mayfair yet?" hastily asked Craig. 

"Yes. I told her to stay, not to excite suspicion. "

"And Haddon knows?"

"Oh, no. But she has told us enough about him already so that wecan worry him, apparently, just as what he can tell us would worrythe others interested in the hotels. To tell the truth, I thinkshe is a drug fiend. Why, my men tell me that they have seen hertake just a sniff of something and change instantly--become awilling tool. "

"That's the way it happens, " commented Kennedy. 

"Now, I'll go up there and meet Haddon, " resumed Carton. "After Ihave been with him long enough to get into his confidence, supposeyou two just happen along. "

Half an hour later Kennedy and I sauntered into the Prince Henry, where Carton had made the appointment in order to avoid suspicionthat might arise if he were seen with Haddon at the Mayfair. 

The two men were waiting for us--Haddon, by contrast with Carton, a weak-faced, nervous man, with bulgy eyes. 

"Mr. Haddon, " introduced Carton, "let me present a couple ofreporters from the Star--off duty, so that we can talk freelybefore them, I can assure you. Good fellows, too, Haddon. "

The hotel and cabaret keeper smiled a sickly smile and greeted uswith a covert, questioning glance. 

"This attack on Mr. Carton has unnerved me, " he shivered. "If anyone dares to do that to him, what will they do to me?"

"Don't get cold feet, Haddon, " urged Carton. "You'll be all right. I'll swing it for you. "

Haddon made no reply. At length he remarked: "You'll excuse me fora moment. I must telephone to my hotel. "

He entered a booth in the shadow of the back of the cafe, wherethere was a slot-machine pay-station. "I think Haddon has hissuspicions, " remarked Carton, "although he is too prudent to sayanything yet. "

A moment later he returned. Something seemed to have happened. Helooked less nervous. His face was brighter and his eyes clearer. What was it, I wondered? Could it be that he was playing a gamewith Carton and had given him a double cross? I was quitesurprised at his next remark. 

"Carton, " he said confidently, "I'll stick. "

"Good, " exclaimed the district attorney, as they fell into aconversation in low tones. 

"By the way, " drawled Kennedy, "I must telephone to the office incase they need me. "

He had risen and entered the same booth. 

Haddon and Carton were still talking earnestly. It was evidentthat, for some reason, Haddon had lost his former halting manner. Perhaps, I reasoned, the bomb episode had, after all, thrown ascare into him, and he felt that he needed protection against hisown associates, who were quick to discover such dealings as Cartonhad forced him into. I rose and lounged back to the booth andKennedy. 

"Whom did he call?" I whispered, when Craig emerged perspiringfrom the booth, for I knew that that was his purpose. 

Craig glanced at Haddon, who now seemed absorbed in talking toCarton. "No one, " he answered quickly. "Central told me there hadnot been a call from this pay-station for half an hour. "

"No one?" I echoed almost incredulously. "Then what did he do?Something happened, all right. "

Kennedy was evidently engrossed in his own thoughts, for he saidnothing. 

"Haddon says he wants to do some scouting about, " announcedCarton, when we rejoined them. "There are several people whom hesays he might suspect. I've arranged to meet him this afternoon toget the first part of this story about the inside working of thevice trust, and he will let me know if anything develops then. Youwill be at your office?"

"Yes, one or the other of us, " returned Craig, in a tone whichHaddon could not hear. 

In the meantime we took occasion to make some inquiries of our ownabout Haddon and Loraine Keith. They were evidently well known inthe select circle in which they travelled. Haddon had many curiouscharacteristics, chief of which to interest Kennedy was his speedmania. Time and again he had been arrested for exceeding the speedlimit in taxicabs and in a car of his own, often in the past withLoraine Keith, but lately alone. 

It was toward the close of the afternoon that Carton called uphurriedly. As Kennedy hung up the receiver, I read on his facethat something had gone wrong. 

"Haddon has disappeared, " he announced, "mysteriously andsuddenly, without leaving so much as a clue. It seems that hefound in his office a package exactly like that which was sent toCarton earlier in the day. He didn't wait to say anything aboutit, but left. Carton is bringing it over here. "

Perhaps a quarter of an hour later, Carton himself deposited thepackage on the laboratory table with an air of relief. We lookedeagerly. It was addressed to Haddon at the Mayfair in the samedisguised handwriting and was done up in precisely the samefashion. 

"Lots of bombs are just scare bombs, " observed Craig. "But younever can tell. "

Again Kennedy had started to dissect. 

"Ah, " he went on, "this is the real thing, though, only a littledifferent from the other. A dry battery gives a spark when the lidis slipped back. See, the explosive is in a steel pipe. Slidingthe lid off is supposed to explode it. Why, there is enoughexplosive in this to have silenced a dozen Haddons. "

"Do you think he could have been kidnapped or murdered?" I asked. "What is this, anyhow--gang-war?"

"Or perhaps bribed?" suggested Carton. 

"I can't say, " ruminated Kennedy. "But I can say this: that thereis at large in this city a man of great mechanical skill andpractical knowledge of electricity and explosives. He is trying tomake sure of hiding something from exposure. We must find him. "

"And especially Haddon, " Carton added quickly. "He is the missinglink. His testimony is absolutely essential to the case I ambuilding up. "

"I think I shall want to observe Loraine Keith without beingobserved, " planned Kennedy, with a hasty glance at his watch. "Ithink I'll drop around at this Mayfair I have heard so much about. Will you come?"

"I'd better not, " refused Carton. "You know they all know me, andeverything quits wherever I go. I'll see you soon. "

As we drove in a cab over to the Mayfair, Kennedy said nothing. Iwondered how and where Haddon had disappeared. Had the powers ofevil in the city learned that he was weakening and hurried him outof the way at the last moment? Just what had Loraine Keith to dowith it? Was she in any way responsible? I felt that there were, indeed, no bounds to what a jealous woman might dare. 

Beside the ornate grilled doorway of the carriage entrance of theMayfair stood a gilt-and-black easel with the words, "Tango Tea atFour. " Although it was considerably after that time, there was aline of taxi-cabs before the place and, inside, a brave array oflate-afternoon and early-evening revellers. The public dancing hadceased, and a cabaret had taken its place. 

We entered and sat down at one of the more inconspicuous of thelittle round tables. On a stage, at one side, a girl was singingone of the latest syncopated airs. 

"We'll just stick around a while, Walter, " whispered Craig. "Perhaps this Loraine Keith will come in. "

Behind us, protected both by the music and the rustle of peoplecoming and going, a couple talked in low tones. Now and then aword floated over to me in a language which was English, sureenough, but not of a kind that I could understand. 

"Dropped by a flatty, " I caught once, then something about a"mouthpiece, " and the "bulls, " and "making a plant. "

"A dip--pickpocket--and his girl, or gun-moll, as they call them, "translated Kennedy. "One of their number has evidently been pickedup by a detective and he looks to them for a good lawyer, ormouth-piece. "

Besides these two there were innumerable other interestingglimpses into the life of this meeting-place for the half-andunderworlds. A motion in the audience attracted me, as if somefavourite performer were about to appear, and I heard the "gun-moll" whisper, "Loraine Keith. "

There she was, a petite, dark-haired, snappy-eyed girl, chic, wellgroomed, and gowned so daringly that every woman in the audienceenvied and every man craned his neck to see her better. Lorainewore a tight-fitting black dress, slashed to the knee. In fact, everything was calculated to set her off at best advantage, and onthe stage, at least, there was something recherche about her. Yet, there was also something gross about her, too. 

Accompanying her was a nervous-looking fellow whose washed-outface was particularly unattractive. It seemed as if the bone inhis nose was going, due to the shrinkage of the blood-vessels. Once, just before the dance began, I saw him rub something on theback of his hand, raise it to his nose, and sniff. Then he took asip of a liqueur. 

The dance began, wild from the first step, and as it developed, Kennedy leaned over and whispered, "The danse des Apaches. "

It was acrobatic. The man expressed brutish passion and jealousy;the woman, affection and fear. It seemed to tell a story--thestruggle of love, the love of the woman against the brutalinstincts of the thug, her lover. She was terrified as well asfascinated by him in his mad temper and tremendous superhumanstrength. I wondered if the dance portrayed the fact. 

The music was a popular air with many rapid changes, but throughall there was a constant rhythm which accorded well with theabandon of the swaying dance. Indeed, I could think of nothing somuch as of Bill Sykes and Nancy as I watched these two. 

It was the fight of two frenzied young animals. He would approachstealthily, seize her, and whirl her about, lifting her to hisshoulder. She was agile, docile, and fearful. He untied a scarfand passed it about her; she leaned against it, and they whirledgiddily about. Suddenly, it seemed that he became jealous. Shewould run; he follow and catch her. She would try to pacify him;he would become more enraged. The dance became faster and morefurious. His violent efforts seemed to be to throw her to thefloor, and her streaming hair now made it seem more like a fightthan a dance. The audience hung breathless. It ended with herdropping exhausted, a proper finale to this lowest and most brutaldance. 

Panting, flushed, with an unnatural light in their eyes, theydescended to the audience and, scorning the roar of applause torepeat the performance, sat at a little table. 

I saw a couple of girls come over toward the man. 

"Give us a deck, Coke, " said one, in a harsh voice. 

He nodded. A silver quarter gleamed momentarily from hand to hand, and he passed to one girl stealthily a small white-paper packet. Others came to him, both men and women. It seemed to be anestablished thing. 

"Who is that?" asked Kennedy, in a low tone, of the pickpocketback of us. 

"Coke Brodie, " was the laconic reply. 

"A cocaine fiend?"

"Yes, and a lobbygow for the grapevine system of selling the dopeunder this new law. "

"Where does he get the supply to sell?" asked Kennedy, casually. 

The pickpocket shrugged his shoulders. 

"No one knows, I suppose, " Kennedy commented to me. "But he getsit in spite of the added restrictions and peddles it in littlepackets, adulterated, and at a fabulous price for such cheapstuff. The habit is spreading like wildfire. It is a fertile meansof recruiting the inmates in the vice-trust hotels. A veritableepidemic it is, too. Cocaine is one of the most harmful of allhabit-forming drugs. It used to be a habit of the underworld, butnow it is creeping up, and gradually and surely reaching thehigher strata of society. One thing that causes its spread is theease with which it can be taken. It requires no smoking-dens, nosyringe, no paraphernalia--only the drug itself. "

Another singer had taken the place of the dancers. Kennedy leanedover and whispered to the dip. 

"Say, do you and your gun-moll want to pick up a piece of changeto get that mouthpiece I heard you talking about?"

The pickpocket looked at Craig suspiciously. 

"Oh, don't worry; I'm all right, " laughed Craig. "You see thatfellow, Coke Brodie? I want to get something on him. If you willframe that sucker to get away with a whole front, there's a fiftyin it. "

The dip looked, rather than spoke, his amazement. ApparentlyKennedy satisfied his suspicions. 

"I'm on, " he said quickly. "When he goes, I'll follow him. Youkeep behind us, and we'll deliver the goods. "

"What's it all about?" I whispered. 

"Why, " he answered, "I want to get Brodie, only I don't want tofigure in the thing so that he will know me or suspect anythingbut a plain hold-up. They will get him; take everything he has. There must be something on that man that will help us. "

Several performers had done their turns, and the supply of thedrug seemed to have been exhausted. Brodie rose and, with a nod toLoraine, went out, unsteadily, now that the effect of the cocainehad worn off. One wondered how this shuffling person could everhave carried through the wild dance. It was not Brodie who danced. It was the drug. 

The dip slipped out after him, followed by the woman. We rose andfollowed also. Across the city Brodie slouched his way, with anevident purpose, it seemed, of replenishing his supply andcontinuing his round of peddling the stuff. 

He stopped under the brow of a thickly populated tenement row onthe upper East Side, as though this was his destination. There hestood at the gate that led down to a cellar, looking up and downas if wondering whether he was observed. We had slunk into adoorway. 

A woman coming down the street, swinging a chatelaine, walkedclose to him, spoke, and for a moment they talked. 

"It's the gun-moll, " remarked Kennedy. "She's getting Brodie offhis guard. This must be the root of that grapevine system, as theycall it. "

Suddenly from the shadow of the next house a stealthy figuresprang out on Brodie. It was our dip, a dip no longer but aregular stick-up man, with a gun jammed into the face of hisvictim and a broad hand over his mouth. Skilfully the woman wentthrough Brodie's pockets, her nimble fingers missing not a thing. 

"Now--beat it, " we heard the dip whisper hoarsely, "and if youraise a holler, we'll get you right, next time. "

Brodie fled as fast as his weakened nerves would permit his shakylimbs to move. As he disappeared, the dip sent something darkhurtling over the roof of the house across the street and hurriedtoward us. 

"What was that?" I asked. 

"I think it was the pistol on the end of a stout cord. That is afavourite trick of the gunmen after a job. It destroys at least apart of the evidence. You can't throw a gun very far alone, youknow. But with it at the end of a string you can lift it up overthe roof of a tenement. If Brodie squeals to a copper and thesepeople are caught, they can't hold them under the pistol law, anyhow. "

The dip had caught sight of us, with his ferret eyes in thedoorway. Quickly Kennedy passed over the money in return for themotley array of objects taken from Brodie. The dip and his gun-moll disappeared into the darkness as quickly as they had emerged. 

There was a curious assortment--the paraphernalia of a drug fiend, old letters, a key, and several other useless articles. Thepickpocket had retained the money from the sale of the dope as hisown particular honorarium. 

"Brodie has led us up to the source of his supply, " remarkedKennedy, thoughtfully regarding the stuff. "And the dip has givenus the key to it. Are you game to go in?"

A glance up and down the street showed it still deserted. Wewormed our way in the shadow to the cellar before which Brodie hadstood. The outside door was open. We entered, and Craig stealthilystruck a match, shading it in his hands. 

At one end we were confronted by a little door of mystery, barredwith iron and held by an innocent enough looking padlock. It wasthis lock, evidently, to which the key fitted, opening the wayinto the subterranean vault of brick and stone. 

Kennedy opened it and pushed back the door. There was a littlesquare compartment, dark as pitch and delightfully cool and damp. He lighted a match, then hastily blew it out and switched on anelectric bulb which it disclosed. 

"Can't afford risks like that here, " he exclaimed, carefullydisposing of the match, as our eyes became accustomed to thelight. 

On every side were pieces of gas-pipe, boxes, and paper, and onshelves were jars of various materials. There was a work-tablelittered with tools, pieces of wire, boxes, and scraps of metal. 

"My word!" exclaimed Kennedy, as he surveyed the curious scenebefore us, "this is a regular bomb factory--one of the mostamazing exhibits that the history of crime has ever produced. "

XVIII

THE "COKE" FIEND

I followed him in awe as he made a hasty inventory of what we haddiscovered. There were as many as a dozen finished and partlyfinished infernal machines of various sizes and kinds, some oftremendous destructive capacity. Kennedy did not even attempt tostudy them. All about were high explosives, chemicals, dynamite. There was gunpowder of all varieties, antimony, blasting-powder, mercury cyanide, chloral hydrate, chlorate of potash, samples ofvarious kinds of shot, some of the outlawed soft-nosed dumdumbullets, cartridges, shells, pieces of metal purposely left withjagged edges, platinum, aluminum, iron, steel--a conglomerate massof stuff that would have gladdened an anarchist. 

Kennedy was examining a little quartz-lined electric furnace, which was evidently used for heating soldering irons and othertools. Everything had been done, it seemed, to prevent explosions. There were no open lights and practically no chance for heat to becommunicated far among the explosives. Indeed, everything had beenarranged to protect the operator himself in his diabolical work. 

Kennedy had switched on the electric furnace, and from the variouspieces of metal on the table selected several. These he wasplacing together in a peculiar manner, and to them he attachedsome copper wire which lay in a corner in a roll. 

Under the work-table, beneath the furnace, one could feel thewarmth of the thing slightly. Quickly he took the curious affair, which he had hastily shaped, and fastened it under the table atthat point, then led the wires out through a little barred windowto an air-shaft, the only means of ventilation of the place exceptthe door. 

While he was working I had been gingerly inspecting the rest ofthe den. In a corner, just beside the door, I had found a set ofshelves and a cabinet. On both were innumerable packets done up inwhite paper. I opened one and found it contained several pinchesof a white, crystalline substance. 

"Little portions of cocaine, " commented Kennedy, when I showed himwhat I had found. "In the slang of the fiends, 'decks. '"

On the top of the cabinet he discovered a little enamelled box, much like a snuff-box, in which were also some of the whiteflakes. Quickly he emptied them out and replaced them with othersfrom jars which had not been made up into packets. 

"Why, there must be hundreds of ounces of the stuff here, to saynothing of the various things they adulterate it with, " remarkedKennedy. "No wonder they are so careful when it is a felony evento have it in your possession in such quantities. See how carefulthey are about the adulteration, too. You could never tell exceptfrom the effect whether it was the pure or only a few-per-cent. -pure article. "

Kennedy took a last look at the den, to make sure that nothing hadbeen disturbed that would arouse suspicion. 

"We may as well go, " he remarked. "To-morrow, I want to be free tomake the connection outside with that wire in the shaft. "

Imagine our surprise, the next morning, when a tap at our doorrevealed Loraine Keith herself. 

"Is this Professor Kennedy?" she asked, gazing at us with a half-wild expression which she was making a tremendous effort tocontrol. "Because if it is, I have something to tell him that mayinterest Mr. Carton. "

We looked at her curiously. Without her make-up she was pallid andyellow in spots, her hands trembling, cold, and sweaty, her eyessunken and glistening, with pupils dilated, her breathing shortand hurried, restless, irresolute, and careless of her personalappearance. 

"Perhaps you wonder how I heard of you and why I have come toyou, " she went on. "It is because I have a confession to make. Isaw Mr. Haddon just before he was--kidnapped. "

She seemed to hesitate over the word. 

"How did you know I was interested?" asked Kennedy keenly. 

"I heard him mention your name with Mr. Carton's. "

"Then he knew that I was more than a reporter for the Star, "remarked Kennedy. "Kidnapped, you say? How?"

She shot a glance half of suspicion, half of frankness, at us. 

"That's what I must confess. Whoever did it must have used me as atool. Mr. Haddon and I used to be good friends--I would be yet. "

There was evident feeling in her tone which she did not have toassume. "All I remember yesterday was that, after lunch, I was inthe office of the Mayfair when he came in. On his desk was apackage. I don't know what has become of it. But he gave one lookat it, seemed to turn pale, then caught sight of me. 'Loraine, ' hewhispered, 'we used to be good friends. Forgive me for turning youdown. But you don't understand. Get me away from here--come withme--call a cab. '

"Well, I got into the cab with him. We had a chauffeur whom weused to have in the old days. We drove furiously, avoiding thetraffic men. He told the driver to take us to my apartment--and--and that is the last I remember, except a scuffle in which I wasdragged from the cab on one side and he on the other. "

She had opened her handbag and taken from it a little snuff-box, like that which we had seen in the den. 

"I--I can't go on, " she apologised, "without this stuff. "

"So you are a cocaine fiend, also?" remarked Kennedy. 

"Yes, I can't help it. There is an indescribable excitement to dosomething great, to make a mark, that goes with it. It's soongone, but while it lasts I can sing and dance, do anything untilevery part of my body begins crying for it again. I was full ofthe stuff when this happened yesterday; had taken too much, Iguess. "

The change in her after she had snuffed some of the crystals wasmagical. From a quivering wretch she had become now a self-confident neurasthenic. 

"You know where that stuff will land you, I presume?" questionedKennedy. 

"I don't care, " she laughed hollowly. "Yes, I know what you aregoing to tell me. Soon I'll be hunting for the cocaine bug, asthey call it, imagining that in my skin, under the flesh, areworms crawling, perhaps see them, see the little animals runningaround and biting me. Oh, you don't know. There are two souls tothe cocainist. One is tortured by the suffering which the stuffbrings; the other laughs at the fears and pains. But it bringssuch thoughts! It stimulates my mind, makes it work without, against my will, gives me such visions--oh, I can not go on. Theywould kill me if they knew I had come to you. Why have I? Has notHaddon cast me off? What is he to me, now?"

It was evident that she was growing hysterical. I wonderedwhether, after all, the story of the kidnapping of Haddon mightnot be a figment of her brain, simply an hallucination due to thedrug. 

"They?" inquired Kennedy, observing her narrowly. "Who?"

"I can't tell. I don't know. Why did I come? Why did I come?"

She was reaching again for the snuff-box, but Kennedy restrainedher. 

"Miss Keith, " he remarked, "you are concealing something from me. There is some one, " he paused a moment, "whom you are shielding. "

"No, no, " she cried. "He was taken. Brodie had nothing to do withit, nothing. That is what you mean. I know. This stuff increasesmy sensitiveness. Yet I hate Coke Brodie--oh--let me go. I am allunstrung. Let me see a doctor. To-night, when I am better, I willtell all. "

Loraine Keith had torn herself from him, had instantly taken apinch of the fatal crystals, with that same ominous change fromfear to self-confidence. What had been her purpose in coming atall? It had seemed at first to implicate Brodie, but she had beenquick to shield him when she saw that danger. I wondered what thefascination might be which the wretch exercised over her. 

"To-night--I will see you to-night, " she cried, and a moment latershe was gone, as unexpectedly as she had come. 

I looked at Kennedy blankly. 

"What was the purpose of that outburst?" I asked. 

"I can't say, " he replied. "It was all so incoherent that, fromwhat I know of drug fiends, I am sure she had a deep-laid purposein it all. It does not change my plans. "

Two hours later we had paid a deposit on an empty flat in thetenement-house in which the bomb-maker had his headquarters, andhad received a key to the apartment from the janitor. Afterconsiderable difficulty, owing to the narrowness of the air-shaft, Kennedy managed to pick up the loose ends of the wire which hadbeen led out of the little window at the base of the shaft, andhad attached it to a couple of curious arrangements which he hadbrought with him. One looked like a large taximeter from a motorcab; the other was a diminutive gas-metre, in looks at least. Attached to them were several bells and lights. 

He had scarcely completed installing the thing, whatever it was, when a gentle tap at the door startled me. Kennedy nodded, and Iopened it. It was Carton. 

"I have had my men watching the Mayfair, " he announced. "Thereseems to be a general feeling of alarm there, now. They can't evenfind Loraine Keith. Brodie, apparently, has not shown up in hisusual haunts since the episode of last night. "

"I wonder if the long arm of this vice trust could have reachedout and gathered them in, too?" I asked. 

"Quite likely, " replied Carton, absorbed in watching Kennedy. "What's this?"

A little bell had tinkled sharply, and a light had flashed up onthe attachments to the apparatus. 

"Nothing. I was just testing it to see if it works. It does, although the end which I installed down below was necessarily onlya makeshift. It is not this red light with the shrill bell that weare interested in. It is the green light and the low-toned bell. This is a thermopile. "

"And what is a thermopile?"' queried Carton. 

"For the sake of one who has forgotten his physics, " smiledKennedy, "I may say this is only another illustration of how allscience ultimately finds practical application. You probably haveforgotten that when two half-rings of dissimilar metals are joinedtogether and one is suddenly heated or chilled, there is producedat the opposite connecting point a feeble current which will flowuntil the junctures are both at the same temperature. You mightcall this a thermo-electric thermometer, or a telethermometer, ora microthermometer, or any of a dozen names. "

"Yes, " I agreed mechanically, only vaguely guessing at what he hadin mind. 

"The accurate measurement of temperature is still a problem ofconsiderable difficulty, " he resumed, adjusting the thermometer. "A heated mass can impart vibratory motion to the ether whichfills space, and the wave-motions of ether are able to reproducein other bodies motions similar to those by which they are caused. At this end of the line I merely measure the electromotive forcedeveloped by the difference in temperature of two similar thermo-electric junctions, opposed. We call those junctions in athermopile 'couples, ' and by getting the recording instrumentssensitive enough, we can measure one one-thousandth of a degree. 

"Becquerel was the first, I believe, to use this property. But themachine which you see here was one recently invented forregistering the temperature of sea water so as to detect theapproach of an iceberg. I saw no reason why it should not be usedto measure heat as well as cold. 

"You see, down there I placed the couples of the thermopilebeneath the electric furnace on the table. Here I have themechanism, operated by the feeble current from the thermopile, opening and closing switches, and actuating bells and lights. Then, too, I have the recording instrument. The thing isfundamentally very simple and is based on well-known phenomena. Itis not uncertain and can be tested at any time, just as I didthen, when I showed a slight fall in temperature. Of course it isnot the slight changes I am after, not the gradual but the suddenchanges in temperature. "

"I see, " said Carton. "If there is a drop, the current goes oneway and we see the red light; a rise and it goes the other, and wesee a green light. "

"Exactly, " agreed Kennedy. "No one is going to approach thatchamber down-stairs as long as he thinks any one is watching, andwe do not know where they are watching. But the moment any suddengreat change is registered, such as turning on that electricfurnace, we shall know it here. "

It must have been an hour that we sat there discussing the meritsof the case and speculating on the strange actions of LoraineKeith. 

Suddenly the red light flashed out brilliantly. 

"What's that?" asked Carton quickly. 

"I can't tell, yet, " remarked Kennedy. "Perhaps it is nothing atall. Perhaps it is a draught of cold air from opening the door. Weshall have to wait and see. "

We bent over the little machine, straining our eyes and ears tocatch the visual and audible signals which it gave. 

Gradually the light faded, as the thermopile adjusted itself tothe change in temperature. 

Suddenly, without warning, a low-toned bell rang before us and abright-green light flashed up. 

"That can have only one meaning, " cried Craig excitedly. "Some oneis down there in that inferno--perhaps the bomb-maker himself. "

The bell continued to ring and the light to glow, showing thatwhoever was there had actually started the electric furnace. Whatwas he preparing to do? I felt that, even though we knew there wassome one there, it did us little good. I, for one, had no relishfor the job of bearding such a lion in his den. 

We looked at Kennedy, wondering what he would do next. From thepackage in which he had brought the two registering machines hequietly took another package, wrapped up, about eighteen incheslong and apparently very heavy. As he did so he kept his attentionfixed on the telethermometer. Was he going to wait until the bomb-maker had finished what he had come to accomplish?

It was perhaps fifteen minutes after our first alarm that thesignals began to weaken. 

"Does that mean that he has gone--escaped?" inquired Cartonanxiously. 

"No. It means that his furnace is going at full power and that hehas forgotten it. It is what I am waiting for. Come on. "

Seizing the package as he hurried from the room, Kennedy dashedout on the street and down the outside cellar stairs, followed byus. 

He paused at the thick door and listened. Apparently there was nota sound from the other side, except a whir of a motor and a roarwhich might have been from the furnace. Softly he tried the door. It was locked on the inside. 

Was the bomb-maker there still? He must be. Suppose he heard us. Would he hesitate a moment to send us all to perdition along withhimself?

How were we to get past that door? Really, the deathlike stillnesson the other side was more mysterious than would have been thedetonation of some of the criminal's explosive. 

Kennedy had evidently satisfied himself on one point. If we wereto get into that chamber we must do it ourselves, and we must doit quickly. 

From the package which he carried he pulled out a stubby littlecylinder, perhaps eighteen inches long, very heavy, with a shortstump of a lever projecting from one side. Between the stoneworkof a chimney and the barred door he laid it horizontally, jammingin some pieces of wood to wedge it tighter. 

Then he began to pump on the handle vigorously. The almostimpregnable door seemed slowly to bulge. Still there was no signof life from within. Had the bomb-maker left before we arrived?

"This is my scientific sledge-hammer, " panted Kennedy, as heworked the little lever backward and forward more quickly--"ahydraulic ram. There is no swinging of axes or wielding ofcrowbars necessary in breaking down an obstruction like this, nowadays. Such things are obsolete. This little jimmy, if you wantto call it that, has a power of ten tons. That ought to beenough. "

It seemed as if the door were slowly being crushed in before theirresistible ten-ton punch of the hydraulic ram. 

Kennedy stopped. Evidently he did not dare to crush the door inaltogether. Quickly he released the ram and placed it vertically. Under the now-yawning door jamb he inserted a powerful claw of theram and again he began to work the handle. 

A moment later the powerful door buckled, and Kennedy deftly swungit outward so that it fell with a crash on the cellar floor. 

As the noise reverberated, there came a sound of a muttered cursefrom the cavern. Some one was there. 

We pressed forward. 

On the floor, in the weird glare of the little furnace, lay a manand a woman, the light playing over their ghastly, set features. 

Kennedy knelt over the man, who was nearest the door. 

"Call a doctor, quick, " he ordered, reaching over and feeling thepulse of the woman, who had half fallen out of her chair. "Theywill, be all right soon. They took what they thought was theirusual adulterated cocaine--see, here is the box in which it was. Instead, I filled the box with the pure drug. They'll come around. Besides, Carton needs both of them in his fight. "

"Don't take any more, " muttered the woman, half conscious. "There's something wrong with it, Haddon. "

I looked more closely at the face in the half-darkness. 

It was Haddon himself. 

"I knew he'd come back when the craving for the drug becameintense enough, " remarked Kennedy. 

Carton looked at Kennedy in amazement. Haddon was the last personin the world whom he had evidently expected to discover here. 

"How--what do you mean?"

"The episode of the telephone booth gave me the first hint. Thatis the favourite stunt of the drug fiend--a few minutes alone, andhe thinks no one is the wiser about his habit. Then, too, therewas the story about his speed mania. That is a frequent failing ofthe cocainist. The drug, too, was killing his interest in LoraineKeith--that is the last stage. 

"Yet under its influence, just as with his lobbygow andlieutenant, Brodie, he found power and inspiration. With him ittook the form of bombs to protect himself in his graft. "

"He can't--escape this time--Loraine. We'll leave it--at hishouse--you know--Carton--"

We looked quickly at the work-table. On it was a gigantic bomb ofclockwork over which Haddon had been working. The cocaine whichwas to have given him inspiration had, thanks to Kennedy, overcomehim. 

Beside Loraine Keith were a suit-case and a Gladstone. She hadevidently been stuffing the corners full of their favouritenepenthe, for, as Kennedy reached down and turned over the closelypacked woman's finery and the few articles belonging to Haddon, innumerable packets from the cabinet dropped out. 

"Hulloa--what's this?" he exclaimed, as he came to a huge roll ofbills and a mass of silver and gold coin. "Trying to double-crossus all the time. That was her clever game--to give him the hourshe needed to gather what money he could save and make a cleangetaway. Even cocaine doesn't destroy the interest of men andwomen in that, " he concluded, turning over to Carton the wealthwhich Haddon had amassed as one of the meanest grafters of thecity of graft. 

Here was a case which I could not help letting the Star haveimmediately. Notes or no notes, it was local news of the firstorder. Besides, anything that concerned Carton was of the highestpolitical significance. 

It kept me late at the office and I overslept. Consequently I didnot see much of Craig the next morning, especially as he told mehe had nothing special, having turned down a case of a robbery ofa safe, on the ground that the police were much better fitted tocatch ordinary yeggmen than he was. During the day, therefore, Ihelped in directing the following up of the Haddon case for theStar. 

Then, suddenly, a new front page story crowded this one of themain headlines. With a sigh of relief, I glanced at the newthriller, found it had something to do with the Navy Department, and that it came from as far away as Washington. There was noreason now why others could not carry on the graft story, and Ileft, not unwillingly. My special work just now was keeping on thetrail of Kennedy, and I was glad to go back to the apartment andwait for him. 

"I suppose you saw that despatch from Washington in thisafternoon's papers?" he queried, as he came in, tossing a lateedition of the Record down on my desk. 

Across the front page extended a huge black scare-head: "NAVY'SMOST VITAL SECRET STOLEN. "

"Yes, " I shrugged, "but you can't get me much excited by what therewrite men on the Record say. "

"Why?" he asked, going directly into his own room. 

"Well, " I replied, glancing through the text of the story, "theactual facts are practically the same as in the other papers. Takethis, for instance, 'On the night of the celebration of theanniversary of the battle of Manila there were stolen from theNavy Department plans which the Record learns exclusivelyrepresent the greatest naval secret in the world. ' So much forthat paragraph--written in the office. Then it goes on:

"The whole secret-service machinery of the Government has been putin operation. No one has been able to extract from the authoritiesthe exact secret which was stolen, but it is believed to be aninvention which will revolutionise the structure and constructionof the most modern monster battleships. Such knowledge, it issaid, in the hands of experts might prove fatal in almost anyfight in which our newer ships met others of about equal fightingpower, as with it marksmen might direct a shot that would disableour ships. 

"It is the opinion of the experts that the theft was executed by askilled draughtsman or other civilian employe. At any rate, thethief knew what to take and its value. There is, at least, onenation, it is asserted, which faces the problem of bringing itsships up to the standard of our own to which the plans would bevery valuable. 

"The building had been thrown open to the public for the displayof fireworks on the Monument grounds before it. The plans are saidto have been on one of the draughting-tables, drawn upon linen tobe made into blue-prints. They are known to have been on thetables when the draughting-room was locked for the night. 

"The room is on the third floor of the Department and has abalcony looking out on the Monument. Many officers and officialshad their families and friends on the balcony to witness thecelebration, though it is not known that any one was in thedraughting-room itself. All were admitted to the building onpasses. The plans were tacked to a draughting-board in the room, but when it was opened in the morning the linen sheet was gone, and so were the thumb-tacks. The plans could readily have beenrolled into a small bundle and carried under a coat or wrap. 

"While the authorities are trying to minimise the actual loss, itis believed that this position is only an attempt to allay thegreat public concern. "

I paused. "Now then, " I added, picking up one of the other papersI had brought up-town myself, "take the Express. It says that theplans were important, but would have been made public in a fewmonths, anyhow. Here:

"The theft--or mislaying, as the Department hopes it will prove tobe--took place several days ago. Official confirmation of thereport is lacking, but from trustworthy unofficial sources it islearned that only unimportant parts of plans are missing, presumably minor structural details of battle-ship construction, and other things of a really trivial character, such as copies ofnaval regulations, etc. 

"The attempt to make a sensational connection between the loss anda controversy which is now going on with a foreign government isgreatly to be deplored and is emphatically asserted to be utterlybaseless. It bears traces of the jingoism of those 'interests'which are urging naval increases. 

"There is usually very little about a battle-ship that is notknown before her keel is laid, or even before the signing of thecontracts. At any rate, when it is asserted that the plansrepresent the dernier cri in some form of war preparation, it iswell to remember that a 'last cry' is last only until there is alater. Naval secrets are few, anyway, and as it takes some yearsto apply them, this loss cannot be of superlative value to anyone. Still, there is, of course, a market for such information inspite of the progress toward disarmament, but the rule in thiscase will be the rule as in a horse trade, 'Caveat emptor. '"

"So there you are, " I concluded. "You pay your penny for a paper, and you take your choice. "

"And the Star, " inquired Kennedy, coming to the door and addingwith an aggravating grin, "the infallible?"

"The Star, " I replied, unruffled, "hits the point squarely when itsays that whether the plans were of immediate importance or not, the real point is that if they could be stolen, really importantthings could be taken also. For instance, 'The thought of what thethief might have stolen has caused much more alarm than theknowledge of what he has succeeded in taking. ' I think it is abouttime those people in Washington stopped the leak if--"

The telephone rang insistently. 

"I think that's for me, " exclaimed Craig, bounding out of his roomand forgetting his quiz of me. "Hello--yes--is that you, Burke? Atthe Grand Central--half an hour--all right. I'm bringing Jameson. Good-bye. "

Kennedy jammed down the receiver on the hook. 

XIX

THE SUBMARINE MYSTERY

"The Star was not far from right, Walter, " he added, seriously. "If the battleship plans could be stolen, other things could be--other things were. You remember Burke of the secret service? I'mgoing up to Lookout Hill on the Connecticut shore of the Soundwith him to-night. The rewrite men on the Record didn't have thefacts, but they had accurate imaginations. The most vital secretthat any navy ever had, that would have enabled us in a couple ofyears to whip the navies of the world combined against us, hasbeen stolen. "

"And that is?" I asked. 

"The practical working-out of the newest of sciences, the scienceof telautomatics. "

"Telautomatics?" I repeated. 

"Yes. There is something weird, fascinating about the very idea. Isit up here safely in this room, turning switches, pressingbuttons, depressing levers. Ten miles away a vehicle, a ship, anaeroplane, a submarine obeys me. It may carry enough of the latestand most powerful explosive that modern science can invent, enough, if exploded, to rival the worst of earthquakes. Yet itobeys my will. It goes where I direct it. It explodes where I wantit. And it wipes off the face of the earth anything which I wantannihilated. 

"That's telautomatics, and that is what has been stolen from ournavy and dimly sensed by you clever newspaper men, from whom eventhe secret service can't quite hide everything. The publication ofthe rumour alone that the government knows it has lost somethinghas put the secret service in a hole. What might have been donequietly and in a few days has got to be done in the glare of thelimelight and with the blare of a brass band--and it has got to bedone right away, too. Come on, Walter. I've thrown together all weshall need for one night--and it doesn't include any pajamas, either. "

A few minutes later we met our friend Burke of the secret serviceat the new terminal. He had wired Kennedy earlier in the daysaying that he would be in New York and would call him up. 

"The plans, as I told you in my message, " began Burke, when we hadseated ourselves in a compartment of the Pullman, "were those ofCaptain Shirley, covering the wireless-controlled submarine. Theold captain is a thoroughbred, too. I've known him in Washington. Comes of an old New England, family with plenty of money but morebrains. For years he has been working on this science of radio-telautomatics, has all kinds of patents, which he has dedicated tothe United States, too. Of course the basic, pioneer patents arenot his. His work has been in the practical application of them. And, Kennedy, there are some secrets about his latest work that hehas not patented; he has given them outright to the NavyDepartment, because they are too valuable even to patent. "

Burke, who liked a good detective tale himself, seemed pleased atholding Kennedy spellbound. 

"For instance, " he went on, "he has on the bay up here a submarinewhich can be made into a crewless dirigible. He calls it theTurtle, I believe, because that was the name of the first Americansubmarine built by Dr. Bushnell during the Revolution, even beforeFulton. "

"You have theories of your own on the case?" asked Craig. 

"Well, there are several possibilities. You know there aresubmarine companies in this country, bitter rivals. They mightlike to have those plans. Then, too, there are foreigngovernments. "

He paused. Though he said nothing, I felt that there was no doubtwhat he hinted at. At least one government occurred to me whichwould like the plans above all others. 

"Once some plans of a submarine were stolen, I recall, " ruminatedKennedy. "But that theft, I am satisfied, was committed in behalfof a rival company. "

"But, Kennedy, " exclaimed Burke, "it was bad enough when the planswere stolen. Now Captain Shirley wires me that some one must havetampered with his model. It doesn't work right. He even believesthat his own life may be threatened. And there is scarcely a realclue, " he added dejectedly. "Of course we are watching all theemployes who had access to the draughting-room and tracingeverybody who was in the building that night. I have a completelist of them. There are three or four who will bear watching. Forinstance, there is a young attache of one of the embassies, namedNordheim. "

"Nordheim!" I echoed, involuntarily. I had expected an Orientalname. 

"Yes, a German. I have been looking up his record, and I find thatonce he was connected in some way with the famous Titan IronWorks, at Kiel, Germany. We began watching him day beforeyesterday, but suddenly he disappeared. Then, there is a societywoman in Washington, a Mrs. Bayard Brainard, who was at theDepartment that night. We have been trying to find her. To-day Igot word that she was summering in the cottage colony across thebay from Lookout Hill. At any rate, I had to go up there to seethe captain, and I thought I'd kill a whole flock of birds withone stone. The chief thought, too, that if you'd take the casewith us you had best start on it up there. Next, you will no doubtwant to go back to Washington with me. "

Lookout Hill was the name of the famous old estate of theShirleys, on a point of land jutting out into Long Island Soundand with a neighbouring point enclosing a large, deep, safeharbour. On the highest ground of the estate, with a perfect viewof both harbour and sound, stood a large stone house, the home ofCaptain Shirley, of the United States navy, retired. 

Captain Shirley, a man of sixty-two or three, bronzed and wiry, met us eagerly. 

"So this is Professor Kennedy; I'm glad to meet you, sir, " hewelcomed, clasping Craig's hand in both of his--a fine figure ashe stood erect in the light of the portecochere. "What's the newsfrom Washington, Burke? Any clues?"

"I can hardly tell, " replied the secret service man. With assumedcheerfulness. "By the way, you'll have to excuse me for a fewminutes while I run back into town on a little errand. Meanwhile, Captain, will you explain to Professor Kennedy just how thingsare? Perhaps he'd better begin by seeing the Turtle herself. "

Burke had not waited longer than to take leave. 

"The Turtle, " repeated the captain, leading the way into thehouse. "Well, I did call it that at first. But I prefer to call itthe Z99. You know the first submarines, abroad at least, weresometimes called Al, A2, A3, and so on. They were of the diving, plunging type, that is, they submerged on an inclined keel, nosedown, like the Hollands. Then came the B type, in which thehydroplane appeared; the C type, in which it was more prominent, and a D type, where submergence is on a perfectly even keel, somewhat like our Lakes. Well, this boat of mine is a last word--the Z99. Call it the Turtle, if you like. "

We were standing for a moment in a wide Colonial hall in which afire was crackling in a huge brick fireplace, taking the chill offthe night air. 

"Let me give you a demonstration, first, " added the captain. "Perhaps Z99 will work--perhaps not. "

There was an air of disappointment about the old veteran as hespoke, uncertainly now, of what a short time ago he had known tobe a certainty and one of the greatest it had ever been given theinventive mind of man to know. 

A slip of a girl entered from the library, saw us, paused, and wasabout to turn back. Silhouetted against the curtained door, therewas health, animation, gracefulness, in every line of her wavychestnut hair, her soft, sparkling brown eyes, her white dress andhat to match, which contrasted with the healthy glow of tan on herfull neck and arms, and her dainty little white shoes, ready foranything from tennis to tango. 

"My daughter Gladys, Professor Kennedy and Mr. Jameson, "introduced the captain. "We are going to try the Z99 again, Gladys. "

A moment later we four were walking to the edge of the cliff whereCaptain Shirley had a sort of workshop and signal-station. 

He lighted the gas, for Lookout Hill was only on the edge of thetown and boasted gas, electricity, and all modern improvements, aswell as the atmosphere of old New England. 

"The Z99 is moored just below us at my private dock, " began thecaptain. "I have a shed down there where we usually keep her, butI expected you, and she is waiting, thoroughly overhauled. I havesignalled to my men--fellows I can trust, too, who used to be withme in the navy--to cast her off. There--now we are ready. "

The captain turned a switch. Instantly a couple of hundred feetbelow us, on the dark and rippling water, a light broke forth. Another signal, and the light changed. 

It was moving. 

"The principle of the thing, " said Captain Shirley, talking to usbut watching the moving light intently, "briefly, is that I usethe Hertzian waves to actuate relays on the Z99. That is, I send achild with a message, the grown man, through the relay, so tospeak, does the work. So, you see, I can sit up here and send mylittle David out anywhere to strike down a huge Goliath. 

"I won't bore you, yet, with explanations of my radio-combinator, the telecommutator, the aerial coherer relay, and the rest of thetechnicalities of wireless control of dirigible, self-propelledvessels. They are well known, beginning with pioneers like Wilsonand Gardner in England, Roberts in Australia, Wirth and Lirpa inGermany, Gabet in France, and Tesla, Edison, Sims, and the youngerHammond in our own country. 

"The one thing, you may not know, that has kept us back whilewireless telegraphy has gone ahead so fast is that in wireless wehave been able to discard coherers and relays and use detectorsand microphones in their places. But in telautomatics we have tokeep the coherer. That has been the barrier. The coherer untilrecently has been spasmodic, until we had Hammond's mercury steel-disc coherer and now my own. Why, " he cried, "we are just on thethreshold, now, of this great science which Tesla has namedtelautomatics--the electric arm that we can stretch out throughspace to do our work and fight our battles. "

It was not difficult to feel the enthusiasm of the captain over aninvention of such momentous possibilities, especially as the Z99was well out in the harbour now and we could see her flashing herred and green signal-lights back to us. 

"You see, " the captain resumed, "I have twelve numbers here on thekeys of this radio-combinator--forward, back, stop propellermotor, rudder right, rudder left, stop steering motor, lightsignals front, light signals rear, launch torpedoes, and so on. The idea is that of a delayed contact. The machinery is alwaysready, but it delays a few seconds until the right impulse isgiven, a purely mechanical problem. I take advantage of the delayto have the message repeated by a signal back to me. I can evenchange it, then. You can see for yourself that it really takes noexperience to run the thing when all is going right. Gladys hasdone it frequently herself. All you have to do is to payattention, and press the right key for the necessary change. It iswhen things go wrong that even an expert like myself--confound it--there's something wrong!"

The Z99 had suddenly swerved. Captain Shirley's brow knitted. Wegathered around closer, Gladys next to her father and leaninganxiously over the transmitting apparatus. 

"I wanted to turn her to port yet she goes to starboard, andsignals starboard, too. There--now--she has stopped altogether. What do you think of that?"

Gladys stroked the old seafarer's hand gently, as he sat silentlyat the table, peering with contracted brows out into the nowbrilliantly moonlit night. 

Shirley looked up at his daughter, and the lines on his facerelaxed as though he would hide his disappointment from her eagereyes. 

"Confound that light! What's the matter with it?" he exclaimed, changing the subject, and glancing up at the gas-fixture. 

Kennedy had already been intently looking at the Welsbach burneroverhead, which had been flickering incessantly. "That gascompany!" added the Captain, shaking his head in disgust, andshowing annoyance over a trivial thing to hide deep concern over agreater, as some men do. "I shall use the electricity altogetherafter this contract with the company expires. I suppose youliterary men, Mr. Jameson, would call that the light that failed. "

There was a forced air about his attempt to be facetious that didnot conceal, but rather accentuated, the undercurrent of feelingsin him. 

"On the contrary, " broke in Kennedy, "I shouldn't be surprised tofind that it is the light that succeeded. "

"How do you mean?"

"I wouldn't have said anything about it if you hadn't noticed ityourself. In fact, I may be wrong. It suggests something to me, but it will need a good deal of work to verify it, and then it maynot be of any significance. Is that the way the Z99 has behavedalways lately?"

"Yes, but I know that she hasn't broken down of herself, " CaptainShirley asserted. "It never did before, not since I perfected thatnew coherer. And now it always does, perhaps fifteen or twentyminutes after I start her out. "

Shirley was watching the lights as they serpentined their way tous across the nearly calm water of the bay, idly toying with thenow useless combinator. 

"Wait here, " he said, rising hurriedly. "I must send my motor-boatout there to pick her up and tow her in. "

He was gone down the flight of rustic steps on the face of thecliff before we could reply. 

"I wish father wouldn't take it to heart so, " murmured Gladys. "Sometimes I fear that success or failure of this boat means lifeor death to him. "

"That is exactly why we are here, " reassured Kennedy, turningearnestly to her, "to help him to settle this thing at once. Thisis a beautiful spot, " he added, as we stood on the edge of thecliff and looked far out over the tossing waves of the sound. 

"What is on that other point?" asked Kennedy, turning again towardthe harbour itself. 

"There is a large cottage colony there, " she replied. "Of coursemany of the houses are still closed so early in the season, but itis a beautiful place in the summer. The hotel over there is opennow, though. "

"You must have a lively time when the season is at its height, "ventured Kennedy. "Do you know a cottager there, a Mrs. Brainard?"

"Oh, yes, indeed. I have known her in Washington for some time. "

"No doubt the cottagers envy you your isolation here, " remarkedKennedy, turning and surveying the beautifully kept grounds. "Ishould think it would be pleasant, too, to have an old Washingtonfriend here. "

"It is. We often invite our friends over for lawn-parties andother little entertainments. Mrs. Brainard has just arrived andhas only had time to return my first visit to her, but I expect weshall have some good times this summer. "

It was evident, at least, that Gladys was not concealing anythingabout her friend, whether there was any suspicion or not of her. 

We had gone into the house to await the return of Captain Shirley. Burke had just returned, his face betraying that he was burstingwith news. 

"She's here, all right, " he remarked in an undertone to Kennedy, "in the Stamford cottage--quite an outfit. French chauffeur, twoJapanese servants, maids, and all. "

"The Stamford cottage?" repeated Gladys. "Why, that is where Mrs. Brainard lives. "

She gave a startled glance at Kennedy, as she suddenly seemed torealise that both he and the secret-service man had spoken abouther friend. 

"Yes, " said Burke, noting on the instant the perfect innocence ofher concern. "What do you know about Mrs. Brainard? Who, where is, Mr. Brainard?"

"Dead, I believe, " Gladys hesitated. "Mrs. Brainard has been wellknown in Washington circles for years. Indeed, I invited her withus the night of the Manila display. "

"And Mr. Nordheim?" broke in Burke. 

"N-no, " she hesitated. "He was there, but I don't know as whoseguest. "

"Did he seem very friendly with. Mrs. Brainard?" pursued thedetective. 

I thought I saw a shade of relief pass over her face as sheanswered, "Yes. " I could only interpret it that perhaps Nordheimhad been attentive to Gladys herself and that she had not welcomedhis attentions. 

"I may as well tell you, " she said, at length. "It is no secret inour set, and I suppose you would find it out soon, anyhow. It issaid that he is engaged to Mrs. Brainard--that is all. "

"Engaged?" repeated Burke. "Then that would account for his beingat the hotel here. At least, it would offer an excuse. "

Gladys was not slow to note the stress that Burke laid on the lastword. 

"Oh, impossible, " she began hurriedly, "impossible that he couldhave known anything about this other matter. Why, she told me hewas to sail suddenly for Germany and came up here for a last visitbefore he went, and to arrange to come back on his return. Oh, hecould know nothing--impossible. "

"Why impossible?" persisted Burke. "They have submarines inGermany, don't they? And rival companies, too. "

"Who have rival companies?" inquired a familiar voice. It wasCaptain Shirley, who had returned out of breath from his longclimb up the steps from the shore. 

"The Germans. I was speaking of an attache named Nordheim. "

"Who is Nordheim?" inquired the captain. 

"You met him at the Naval building, that night, don't youremember?" replied Gladys. 

"Oh, yes, I believe I do--dimly. He was the man who seemed sodevoted to Mrs. Brainard. "

"I think he is, too, father, " she replied hastily. "He has beensuddenly called to Berlin and planned to spend the last few dayshere, at the hotel, so as to be near her. She told me that he hadbeen ordered back to Washington again before he sailed and had hadto cut his visit short. "

"When did you first notice the interference with the Turtle?"asked Burke. "I received your message this morning. "

"Yesterday morning was the first, " replied the captain. 

"He arrived the night before and did not leave until yesterdayafternoon, " remarked Burke. 

"And we arrived to-night, " put in Craig quietly. "The interferenceis going on yet. "

"Then the Japs, " I cut in, at last giving voice to the suspicion Ihad of the clever little Orientals. 

"They could not have stolen the plans, " asserted Burke, shakinghis head. "No, Nordheim and Mrs. Brainard were the only ones whocould have got into the draughting room the night of the Manilacelebration. "

"Burke, " said Kennedy, rising, "I wish you would take me intotown. There are a few messages I would like to send. You willexcuse us, Captain, for a few hours? Good evening, Miss Shirley. "As he bowed I heard Kennedy add to her: "Don't worry about yourfather. Everything will come out all right soon. "

Outside, in the car which Burke had hired, Craig added: "Not totown. That was an excuse not to alarm Miss Shirley too much overher friend. Take us over past the Stamford cottage, first. "

The Stamford cottage was on the beach, between the shore front andthe road. It was not a new place but was built in the hideousstyle of some thirty years ago with all sorts of little turned andknobby ornaments. We paused down the road a bit, though not longenough to attract attention. There were lights on every floor ofthe cottage, although most of the neighbouring cottages were dark. 

"Well protected by lightning-rods, " remarked Kennedy, as he lookedthe Stamford cottage over narrowly. "We might as well drive on. Keep an eye on the hotel, Burke. It may be that Nordheim intendsto return, after all. "

"Assuming that he has left, " returned the secret-service man. 

"But you said he had left, " said Kennedy. "What do you mean?"

"I hardly know myself, " wearily remarked Burke, on whom the strainof the case, to which we were still fresh, had begun to tell. "Ionly know that I called up Washington after I heard he had been atthe hotel, and no one at our headquarters knew that he hadreturned. They may have fallen down, but they were to watch bothhis rooms and the embassy. "

"H-m, " mused Kennedy. "Why didn't you say that before?"

"Why, I assumed that he had gone back, until you told me there wasinterference to-night, too. Now, until I can locate him definitelyI'm all at sea--that's all. "

It was now getting late in the evening, but Kennedy had evidentlyno intention of returning yet to Lookout Hill. We paused at thehotel, which was in the centre of the cottage colony, and flankedby a hill that ran back of the colony diagonally and from which aview of both the hotel and the cottages could be obtained. Burke'sinquiries developed the fact that Nordheim had left very hurriedlyand in some agitation. "To tell you the truth, " confided theclerk, with whom Burke had ingratiated himself, "I thought heacted like a man who was watched. "

Late as it was, Kennedy insisted on motoring to the railroadstation and catching the last train to New York. As there seemedto be nothing that I could do at Lookout Hill, I accompanied himon the long and tedious ride, which brought us back to the city inthe early hours of the morning. 

We stopped just long enough to run up to the laboratory and tosecure a couple of little instruments which looked very much likesmall incandescent lamps in a box. Then, by the earliest trainfrom New York, we returned to Lookout Hill, with only such sleepas Kennedy had predicted, snatched in the day coaches of thetrains and during a brief wait in the station. 

A half-hour's freshening up with a dip in the biting cold water ofthe bay, breakfast with Captain Shirley and Miss Gladys, and areturn to the excitement of the case, had to serve in place ofrest. Burke disappeared, after a hasty conference with Kennedy, presumably to watch Mrs. Brainard, the hotel, and the Stamfordcottage to see who went in and out. 

"I've had the Z99 brought out of its shed, " remarked the captain, as we rose from the breakfast-table. "There was nothing wrong asfar as I could discover last night or by a more careful inspectionthis morning. I'd like to have you take a look at her now, in thedaylight. "

"I was about to suggest, " remarked Kennedy, as we descended thesteps to the shore, "that perhaps, first, it might be well to takea short run in her with the crew, just to make sure that there isnothing wrong with the machinery. "

"A good idea, " agreed the captain. 

We came to the submarine, lying alongside the dock and lookinglike a huge cigar. The captain preceded us down the narrowhatchway, and I followed Craig. The deck was cleared, the hatchclosed, and the vessel sealed. 

XX

THE WIRELESS DETECTOR

Remembering Jules Verne's enticing picture of life on the palatialNautilus, I may as well admit that I was not prepared for a realsubmarine. My first impression, as I entered the hold, was that ofdiscomfort and suffocation. I felt, too, that I was too close totoo much whirring machinery. I gazed about curiously. On all sideswere electrical devices and machines to operate the craft and thetorpedoes. I thought, also, that the water outside wasuncomfortably close; one could almost feel it. The Z99 was lowroofed, damp, with an intricate system of rods, controls, engines, tanks, stop-cocks, compasses, gauges--more things than it seemedthe human mind, to say nothing of wireless, could possibly attendto at once. 

"The policy of secrecy which governments keep in regard tosubmarines, " remarked the captain, running his eye over everythingat once, it seemed, "has led them to be looked upon as somethingmysterious. But whatever you may think of telautomatics, there isreally no mystery about an ordinary submarine. "

I did not agree with our "Captain Nemo, " as, the examinationcompleted, he threw in a switch. The motor started. The Z99 hummedand trembled. The fumes of gasoline were almost suffocating atfirst, in spite of the prompt ventilation to clear them off. Therewas no escape from the smell. I had heard of "gasoline heart, " butthe odour only made me sick and dizzy. Like most novices, Isuppose, I was suffering excruciating torture. Not so, Kennedy. Hegot used to it in no time; indeed, seemed to enjoy the verydiscomfort. 

I felt that there was only one thing necessary to add to it, andthat was the odour of cooking. Cooking, by the way, on a submarineis uncertain and disagreeable. There was a little electric heater, I found, which might possibly have heated enough water for one cupof coffee at a time. 

In fact, space was economised to the utmost. Only the necessariesof life were there. Every inch that could be spared was given overto machinery. It was everywhere, compact, efficient--everythingfor running the boat under water, guiding it above and below, controlling its submersion, compressing air, firing torpedoes, anda thousand other things. It was wonderful as it was. But when onereflected that all could be done automatically, or rathertelautomatically, it was simply astounding. 

"You see, " observed Captain Shirley, "when she is workingautomatically neither the periscope nor the wireless-mast shows. The wireless impulses are carried down to her from aninconspicuous float which trails along the surface and carries ashort aerial with a wire running down, like a mast, formingpractically invisible antennae. "

As he was talking the boat was being "trimmed" by admitting wateras ballast into the proper tanks. 

"The Z99, " he went on, "is a submersible, not a diving, submarine. That is to say, the rudder guides it and changes the angle of theboat. But the hydroplanes pull it up and down, two pairs of themset fore and aft of the centre of gravity. They lift or lower theboat bodily on an even keel, not by plunging and diving. I willnow set the hydroplanes at ten degrees down and the horizontalrudder two degrees up, and the boat will submerge to a depth ofthirty feet and run constant at that depth. "

He had shut off the gasoline motor and started the storage-batteryelectric motor, which was used when running submerged. The greatmotors gave out a strange, humming sound. The crew conversed inlow, constrained tones. There was a slightly perceptible jar, andthe boat seemed to quiver just a bit from stem to stern. In frontof Shirley was a gauge which showed the depth of submergence and aspirit-level which showed any inclination. 

"Submerged, " he remarked, "is like running on the surface underdense-fog conditions. "

I did not agree with those who have said there is no differencerunning submerged or on the surface. Under way on the surface wasone thing. But when we dived it was most unpleasant. I had beenreassured at the start when I heard that there were tencompressed-air tanks under a pressure of two thousand pounds tothe square inch. But only once before had I breathed compressedair and that was when one of our cases once took us down into thetunnels below the rivers of New York. It was not a new sensation, but at fifty feet depth I felt a little tingling all over my body, a pounding of the ear-drums, and just a trace of nausea. 

Kennedy smiled as I moved about. "Never mind, Walter, " he said. "Iknow how you feel on a first trip. One minute you are choking fromlack of oxygen, then in another part of the boat you areexhilarated by too much of it. Still, " he winked, "don't forgetthat it is regulated. "

"Well, " I returned, "all I can say is that if war is hell, asubmarine is war. "

I had, however, been much interested in the things about me. Forward, the torpedo-discharge tubes and other apparatus about thelittle doors in the vessel's nose made it look somewhat like theshield used in boring a tunnel under compressed air. 

"Ordinary torpedo-boats use the regular automobile torpedo, "remarked Captain Shirley, coming ubiquitously up behind me. "Iimprove on that. I can discharge the telautomobile torpedo, andguide it either from the boat, as we are now, or from the landstation where we were last night, at will. "

There was something more than pride in his manner. He was deadlyin earnest about his invention. 

We had come over to the periscope, the "eye" of the submarine whenshe is running just under the surface, but of no use that we werebelow. "Yes, " he remarked, in answer to my half-spoken question, "that is the periscope. Usually there is one fixed to look aheadand another that is movable, in order to take in what is on thesides and in the rear. I have both of those. But, in addition, Ihave the universal periscope, the eye that sees all around, threehundred and sixty degrees--a very clever application of an annularprism with objectives, condenser, and two eyepieces of low andhigh power. "

A call from one of the crew took him into the stern to watch theoperation of something, leaving me to myself, for Kennedy wasroaming about on a still hunt for anything that might suggestitself. The safety devices, probably more than any other singlething, interested me, for I had read with peculiar fascination ofthe great disasters to the Lutin, the Pluviose, the Farfardet, theA8, the Foca, the Kambala, the Japanese No 6, the German U3, andothers. 

Below us I knew there was a keel that could be dropped, lighteningthe boat considerably. Also, there was the submarine bell, immersed in a tank of water, with telephone receivers attached bywhich one could "listen in, " for example, before rising, say, fromsixty feet to twenty feet, and thus "hear" the hulls of otherships. The bell was struck by means of air pressure, and was thesame as that used for submarine signalling on ships. Water, beingdense, is an excellent conductor of sound. Even in the submarineitself, I could hear the muffled clang of the gong. 

Then there were buoys which could be released and would fly to thesurface, carrying within them a telephone, a light, and a whistle. I knew also something of the explosion dangers on a submarine, both from the fuel oil used when running on the surface, and fromthe storage batteries used when running submerged. Once in a whilea sailor would take from a jar a piece of litmus paper and exposeit, showing only a slight discolouration due to carbon dioxide. That was the least of my troubles. For a few moments, also, thewhite mice in a cage interested me. White mice were carriedbecause they dislike the odour of gasoline and give warning of anyleakage by loud squeals. 

The fact was that there was so much of interest that, the firstdiscomfort over, I was, like Kennedy, beginning really to enjoythe trip. 

I was startled suddenly to hear the motors stop. There was no moreof that interminable buzzing. The Z99 responded promptly to theair pressure that was forcing the water out of the tanks. Thegauge showed that we were gradually rising on an even keel. A mansprang up the narrow hatchway and opened the cover through whichwe could see a little patch of blue sky again. The gasoline motorwas started, and we ran leisurely back to the dock. The trip wasover--safely. As we landed I felt a sense of gladness to get awayfrom that feeling of being cut off from the world. It was not fearof death or of the water, as nearly as I could analyse it, butmerely that terrible sense of isolation from man and nature as weknow it. 

A message from Burke was waiting for Kennedy at the wharf. He readit quickly, then handed it to Captain Shirley and myself. 

 Have just received a telegram from Washington. Great excitement at the embassy. Cipher telegram has been despatched to the Titan Iron Works. One of my men in Washington reports a queer experience. He had been following one of the members of the embassy staff, who saw he was being shadowed, turned suddenly on the man, and exclaimed, "Why are you hounding us still?" What do you make of it? No trace yet of Nordheim

 BURKE. 

The lines in Craig's face deepened in thought as he folded themessage and remarked abstractedly, "She works all right when youare aboard. " Then he recalled himself. "Let us try her againwithout a crew. "

Five minutes later we had ascended to the aerial conning-tower, and all was in readiness to repeat the trial of the night before. Vicious and sly the Z99 looked in the daytime as she slipped off, under the unseen guidance of the wireless, with death hidden underher nose. Just as during the first trial we had witnessed, shebegan by fulfilling the highest expectations. Straight as an arrowshe shot out of the harbour's mouth, half submerged, with herperiscope sticking up and bearing the flag proudly flapping, leaving behind a wake of white foam. 

She turned and re-entered the harbour, obeying Captain Shirley'severy whim, twisting in and out of the shipping much to theamazement of the old salts, who had never become used to the weirdsight. She cut a figure eight, stopped, started again. 

Suddenly I could see by the look on Captain Shirley's face thatsomething was wrong. Before either of us could speak, there was aspurt of water out in the harbour, a cloud of spray, and the Z99sank in a mass of bubbles. She had heeled over and was resting onthe mud and ooze of the harbour bottom. The water had closed overher, and she was gone. 

Instantly all the terrible details of the sinking of the Lutin andother submarines flashed over me. I fancied I could see on the Z99the overturned accumulators. I imagined the stifling fumes, thestruggle for breath in the suddenly darkened hull. Almost as if ithad happened half an hour ago, I saw it. 

"Thank God for telautomatics, " I murmured, as the thought sweptover me of what we had escaped. "No one was aboard her, at least. "

Chlorine was escaping rapidly from the overturned storagebatteries, for a grave danger lurks in the presence of sea water, in a submarine, in combination with any of the sulphuric acid. Salt water and sulphuric acid produce chlorine gas, and a pint ofit inside a good-sized submarine would be sufficient to renderunconscious the crew of a boat. I began to realise the risks wehad run, which my confidence in Captain Shirley had minimised. Iwondered whether hydrogen in dangerous quantities might not begiven off, and with the short-circuiting of the batteries perhapsexplode. Nothing more happened, however. All kinds of theoriessuggested themselves. Perhaps in some way the gasoline motor hadbeen started while the boat was depressed, the "gas" had escaped, combined with air, and a spark had caused an explosion. There wereso many possibilities that it staggered me. Captain Shirley satstunned. 

Yet here was the one great question, Whence had come the impulsethat had sent the famous Z99 to her fate?

"Could it have been through something internal?' I asked. "Could acurrent from one of the batteries have influenced the receivingapparatus?"

"No, " replied the captain mechanically. "I have a secret method ofprotecting my receiving instruments from such impulses within thehull. "

Kennedy was sitting silently in the corner, oblivious to us up tothis point. 

"But not to impulses from outside the hull, " he broke in. 

Unobserved, he had been bending over one of the little instrumentswhich had kept us up all night and bad cost a tedious trip to NewYork and back. 

"What's that?" I asked. 

"This? This is a little instrument known as the audion, a wirelesselectric-wave detector. "

"Outside the hull?" repeated Shirley, still dazed. 

"Yes, " cried Kennedy excitedly. "I got my first clue from thatflickering Welsbach mantle last night. Of course it flickered fromthe wireless we were using, but it kept on. You know in the gas-mantle there is matter in a most mobile and tenuous state, verysensitive to heat and sound vibrations. 

"Now, the audion, as you see, consists of two platinum wings, parallel to the plane of a bowed filament of an incandescent lightin a vacuum. It was invented by Dr. Lee DeForest to detectwireless. When the light is turned on and the little tantalumfilament glows, it is ready for business. 

"It can be used for all systems of wireless--singing spark, quenched spark, arc sets, telephone sets; in fact, it will detecta wireless wave from whatever source it is sent. It is sosusceptible that a man with one attached to an ordinary steel-rodumbrella on a rainy night can pick up wireless messages that arebeing transmitted within some hundreds of miles radius. "

The audion buzzed. 

"There--see? Our wireless is not working. But with the audion youcan see that some wireless is, and a fairly near and powerfulsource it is, too. "

Kennedy was absorbed in watching the audion. 

Suddenly he turned and faced us. He had evidently reached aconclusion. "Captain, " he cried, "can you send a wireless message?Yes? Well, this is to Burke. He is over there back of the hotel onthe hill with some of his men. He has one there who understandswireless, and to whom I have given another audion. Quick, beforethis other wireless cuts in on us again. I want others to get themessage as well as Burke. Send this: 'Have your men watch therailroad station and every road to it. Surround the Stamfordcottage. There is some wireless interference from thatdirection. '"

As Shirley, with a half-insane light in his eyes, flashed themessage mechanically through space, Craig rose and signalled tothe house. Under the portecochere I saw a waiting automobile, which an instant later tore up the broken-stone path and whirledaround almost on two wheels near the edge of the cliff. Glowingwith health and excitement, Gladys Shirley was at the wheelherself. In spite of the tenseness of the situation, I could nothelp stopping to admire the change in the graceful, girlish figureof the night before, which was now all lithe energy and alertnessin her eager devotion to carrying out the minutest detail ofKennedy's plan to aid her father. 

"Excellent, Miss Shirley, " exclaimed Kennedy, "but when I askedBurke to have you keep a car in readiness, I had no idea you woulddrive it yourself. "

"I like it, " she remonstrated, as he offered to take the wheel. "Please--please--let me drive. I shall go crazy if I'm not doingsomething. I saw the Z99 go down. What was it? Who--"

"Captain, " called Craig. "Quick--into the car. We must hurry. Tothe Stamford house, Miss Shirley. No one can get away from itbefore we arrive. It is surrounded. "

Everything was quiet, apparently, about the house as our wild ridearound the edge of the harbour ended under the deft guidance ofGladys Shirley. Here and there, behind a hedge or tree, I couldsee a lurking secret-service man. Burke joined us from behind abarn next door. 

"Not a soul has gone in or out, " he whispered. "There does notseem to be a sign of life there. "

Craig and Burke had by this time reached the broad veranda. Theydid not wait to ring the bell, but carried the door down literallyoff its hinges. We followed closely. 

A scream from the drawing-room brought us to a halt. It was Mrs. Brainard, tall, almost imperial in her loose morning gown, herdark eyes snapping fire at the sudden intrusion. I could not tellwhether she had really noticed that the house was watched or wasacting a part. 

"What does this mean?" she demanded. "What--Gladys--you--"

"Florence--tell them--it isn't so--is it? You don't know a thingabout those plans of father's that were--stolen--that night. "

"Where is Nordheim?" interjected Burke quickly, a little of his"third degree" training getting the upper hand. 

"Nordheim?"

"Yes--you know. Tell me. Is he here?"

"Here? Isn't it bad enough to hound him, without hounding me, too?Will you merciless detectives drive us all from, place to placewith your brutal suspicions?"

"Merciless?" inquired Burke, smiling with sarcasm. "Who has beenhounding him?"

"You know very well what I mean, " she repeated, drawing herself upto her full height and patting Gladys's hand to reassure her. "Read that message on the table. "

Burke picked up a yellow telegram dated New York, two days before. 

 It was as I feared when I left you. The secret service must have rummaged my baggage both here and at the hotel. They have taken some very valuable papers of mine. 

"Secret service--rummage baggage?" repeated Burke, himself now inperplexity. "That is news to me. We have rummaged no trunks orbags, least of all Nordheim's. In fact, we have never been able tofind them at all. "

"Upstairs, Burke--the servants' quarters, " interrupted Craigimpatiently. "We are wasting time here. "

Mrs. Brainard offered no protest. I began to think that the wholething was indeed a surprise to her, and that she had, in fact, been reading, instead of making a studied effort to appearsurprised at our intrusion. 

Room after room was flung open without finding any one, until wereached the attic, which had been finished off into several rooms. One door was closed. Craig opened it cautiously. It was pitch darkin spite of the broad daylight outside. We entered gingerly. 

On the floor lay two dark piles of something. My foot touched oneof them. I drew back in horror at the feeling. It was the body ofa man. 

Kennedy struck a light, and as he bent over in its little circleof radiance, he disclosed a ghastly scene. 

"Hari-kiri!" he ejaculated. "They must have got my message toBurke and have seen that the house was surrounded. "

The two Japanese servants had committed suicide. 

"Wh-what does it all mean?" gasped Mrs. Brainard, who had followedus upstairs with Gladys. 

Burke's lip curled slightly and he was about to speak. 

"It means, " hastened Kennedy, "that you have been double crossed, Mrs. Brainard. Nordheim stole those plans of Captain Shirley'ssubmarine for his Titan Iron Works. Then the Japs stole them fromhis baggage at the hotel. He thought the secret service had them. The Japs waited here just long enough to try the plans against theZ99 herself--to destroy Captain Shirley's work by his own methodof destruction. It was clever, clever. It would make his laboursseem like a failure and would discourage others from keeping upthe experiments. They had planned to steal a march on the world. Every time the Z99 was out they worked up here with theirimprovised wireless until they found the wave-length Shirley wasusing. It took fifteen or twenty minutes, but they managed, finally, to interfere so that they sent the submarine to thebottom of the harbour. Instead of being the criminal, Burke, Mrs. Brainard is the victim, the victim both of Nordheim and of herservants. "

Craig had thrown open a window and had dropped down on his kneesbefore a little stove by which the room was heated. He was pokingeagerly in a pile of charred paper and linen. 

"Shirley, " he cried, "your secret is safe, even though theduplicate plans were stolen. There will be no more interference. "

The Captain seized Craig by both hands and wrung them like thehandle of a pump. 

"Oh, thank you--thank you--thank you, " cried Gladys, running upand almost dancing with joy at the change in her father. "I--Icould almost--kiss you!"

"I could let you, " twinkled Craig, promptly, as she blusheddeeply. "Thank you, too, Mrs. Brainard, " he added, turning toacknowledge her congratulations also. "I am glad I have been ableto be of service to you. "

"Won't you come back to the house for dinner?" urged the Captain. 

Kennedy looked at me and smiled. "Walter, " he said, "this is noplace for two old bachelors like us. "

Then turning, he added, "Many thanks, sir, --but, seriously, lastnight we slept principally in day coaches. Really I must turn thecase over to Burke now and get back to the city to-night early. "

They insisted on accompanying us to the station, and there thecongratulations were done all over again. 

"Why, " exclaimed Kennedy, as we settled ourselves in the Pullmanafter waving a final good-bye, "I shall be afraid to go back tothat town again. I--I almost did kiss her!"

Then his face settled into its usual stern lines, althoughsoftened, I thought. I am sure that it was not the New Englandlandscape, with its quaint stone fences, that he looked at out ofthe window, but the recollection of the bright dashing figure ofGladys Shirley. 

It was seldom that a girl made so forcible an impression onKennedy, I know, for on our return he fairly dived into work, likethe Z99 herself, and I did not see him all the next day until justbefore dinner time. Then he came in and spent half an hourrestoring his acid-stained fingers to something like humansemblance. 

He said nothing about his research work of the day, and I was justabout to remark that a day had passed without its usual freshalarum and excursion, when a tap on the door buzzer was followedby the entrance of our old friend Andrews, head of the GreatEastern Life Insurance Company's own detective service. 

"Kennedy, " he began, "I have a startling case for you. Can youhelp me out with it?"

As he sat down heavily, he pulled from his immense black walletsome scraps of paper and newspaper cuttings. 

"You recall, I suppose, " he went on, unfolding the papers withoutwaiting for an answer, "the recent death of young Montague Phelps, at Woodbine, just outside the city?"

Kennedy nodded. The death of Phelps, about ten days before, hadattracted nation-wide attention because of the heroic fight forlife he had made against what the doctors admitted had puzzledthem--a new and baffling manifestation of coma. They had labouredhard to keep him awake, but had not succeeded, and after severaldays of lying in a comatose state he had finally succumbed. It wasone of those strange but rather frequent cases of long sleepsreported in the newspapers, although it was by no means one whichmight be classed as record-breaking. 

The interest in Phelps lay, a great deal, in the fact that theyoung man had married the popular dancer, Anginette Petrovska, afew months previously. His honeymoon trip around the world hadsuddenly been interrupted, while the couple were crossing Siberia, by the news of the failure of the Phelps banking-house in WallStreet and the practical wiping-out of his fortune. He hadreturned, only to fall a victim to a greater misfortune. 

"A few days before his death, " continued Andrews, measuring hiswords carefully, "I, or rather the Great Eastern, which had beensecretly investigating the case, received this letter. What do youthink of it?"

He spread out on the table a crumpled note in a palpably disguisedhandwriting:

 TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:

 You would do well to look Into the death of Montague Phelps, Jr. I accuse no one, assert nothing. But when a young man apparently in the best of health, drops off so mysteriously and even the physician in the case can give no very convincing information, that case warrants attention. I know what I know. 

 AN OUTSIDER. 

XXI

THE GHOULS

"H-M, " mused Kennedy, weighing the contents of the note carefully, "one of the family, I'll be bound--unless the whole thing is ahoax. By the way, who else is there in the immediate family?"

"Only a brother, Dana Phelps, younger and somewhat inclined towildness, I believe. At least, his father did not trust him with alarge inheritance, but left most of his money in trust. But beforewe go any further, read that. "

Andrews pulled from the papers a newspaper cutting on which he haddrawn a circle about the following item. As we read, he eyed ussharply. 

 PHELPS TOMB DESECRATED

 Last night, John Shaughnessy, a night watchman employed by the town of Woodbine, while on his rounds, was attracted by noises as of a violent struggle near the back road in the Woodbine Cemetery, on the outskirts of the town. He had varied his regular rounds because of the recent depredations of motor-car yeggmen who had timed him in pulling off several jobs lately. As he hurried toward the large mausoleum of the Phelps family, he saw two figures slink away in opposite directions in the darkness. One of them, he asserts positively, seemed to be a woman in black, the other a man whom he could not see clearly. They readily eluded pursuit in the shadows, and a moment later he heard the whir of a high-powered car, apparently bearing them away. 

 At the tomb there was every evidence of a struggle. Things had been thrown about; the casket had been broken open, but the body of Montague Phelps, Jr. , which had been interred there about ten days ago, was not touched or mutilated. 

 It was a shocking and extraordinary violation. Shaughnessy believes that some personal jewels may have been buried with Phelps and that the thieves were after them, that they fought over the loot, and in the midst of the fight were scared away. 

 The vault is of peculiar construction, a costly tomb in which repose the bodies of the late Montague Phelps, Sr. , of his wife, and now of his eldest son. The raid had evidently been carefully planned to coincide with a time when Shaughnessy would ordinarily have been on the other side of the town. The entrance to the tomb had been barred, but during the commotion the ghouls were surprised and managed to escape without accomplishing their object and leaving no trace. 

 Mrs. Phelps, when informed of the vandalism, was shocked, and has been in a very nervous state since the tomb was forced open. The local authorities seem extremely anxious that every precaution should be taken to prevent a repetition of the ghoulish visit to the tomb, but as yet the Phelps family has taken no steps. 

"Are you aware of any scandal, any skeleton in the closet in thefamily?" asked Craig, looking up. 

"No--not yet, " considered Andrews. "As soon as I heard of thevandalism, I began to wonder what could have happened in thePhelps tomb, as far as our company's interests were concerned. Yousee, that was yesterday. To-day this letter came along, " he added, laying down a second very dirty and wrinkled note beside thefirst. It was quite patently written by a different person fromthe first; its purport was different, indeed quite the opposite ofthe other. "It was sent to Mrs. Phelps, " explained Andrews, "andshe gave it out herself to the police. "

 Do not show this to the police. Unless you leave $5000 in gold in the old stump in the swamp across from the cemetery, you will have reason to regret it. If you respect the memory of the dead, do this, and do it quietly. 

 BLACK HAND. 

"Well, " I ejaculated, "that's cool. What threat would be used toback this demand on the Phelpses?"

"Here's the situation, " resumed Andrews, puffing violently on hisinevitable cigar and toying with the letters and clippings. "Wehave already held up payment of the half-million dollars ofinsurance to the widow as long as we can consistently do so. Butwe must pay soon, scandal or not, unless we can get something morethan mere conjecture. "

"You are already holding it up?" queried Craig. 

"Yes. You see, we investigate thoroughly every suspicious death. In most cases, no body is found. This case is different in thatrespect. There is a body, and it is the body of the insured, apparently. But a death like this, involving the least mystery, receives careful examination, especially if, as in this case, ithas recently been covered by heavy policies. My work has oftenserved to reverse the decision of doctors and coroners' juries. 

"An insurance detective, as you can readily appreciate, Kennedy, soon comes to recognise the characteristics in the crimes withwhich he deals. For example, writing of the insurance plotted forrarely precedes the conspiracy to defraud. That is, I know of fewcases in which a policy originally taken out in good faith hassubsequently become the means of a swindle. 

"In outright-murder cases, the assassin induces the victim to takeout insurance in his favour. In suicide cases, the insured does sohimself. Just after his return home, young Phelps, who carriedfifty thousand dollars already, applied for and was granted one ofthe largest policies we have ever written--half a million. "

"Was it incontestible without the suicide clause?" asked Kennedy. 

"Yes, " replied Andrews, "and suicide is the first and easiesttheory. Why, you have no idea how common the crime of suicide forthe sake of the life insurance is becoming. Nowadays, we insurancemen almost believe that every one who contemplates ending hisexistence takes out a policy so as to make his life, which isuseless to him, a benefit, at least, to some one--and a nightmareto the insurance detective. "

"I know, " I cut in, for I recalled having been rather interestedin the Phelps case at the time, "but I thought the doctors saidfinally that death was due to heart failure. "

"Doctor Forden who signed the papers said so, " corrected Andrews. "Heart failure--what does that mean? As well say breath failure, or nerve failure. I'll tell you what kind of failure I think itwas. It was money failure. Hard times and poor investments struckPhelps before he really knew how to handle his small fortune. Itcalled him home and--pouf!--he is off--to leave to his family acool half-million by his death. But did he do it himself or didsome one else do it? That's the question. "

"What is your theory, " inquired Kennedy absently, "assuming thereis no scandal hidden in the life of Phelps before or after hemarried the Russian dancer?"

"I don't know, Kennedy, " confessed Andrews. "I have had so manytheories and have changed them so rapidly that all I lay claim tobelieving, outside of the bald facts that I have stated, is thatthere must have been some poison. I rather sense it, feel thatthere is no doubt of it, in fact. That is why I have come to you. I want you to clear it up, one way or another. The company has nointerest except in getting at the truth. "

"The body is really there?" asked Kennedy. "You saw it?"

"It was there no later than this afternoon, and in an almostperfect state of preservation, too. "

Kennedy seemed to be looking at and through Andrews as if he wouldhypnotise the truth out of him. "Let me see, " he said quickly. "Itis not very late now. Can we visit the mausoleum to-night?"

"Easily. My car is down-stairs. Woodbine is not far, and you'llfind it a very attractive suburb, aside from this mystery. "

Andrews lost no time in getting us out to Woodbine, and on thefringe of the little town, one of the wealthiest around the city, he deposited us at the least likely place of all, the cemetery. Avisit to a cemetery is none too enjoyable even on a bright day. Inthe early night it is positively uncanny. What was gruesome in thedaylight became doubly so under the shroud of darkness. 

We made our way into the grounds through a gate, and I, at least, even with all the enlightenment of modern science, could notrestrain a weird and creepy sensation. 

"Here is the Phelps tomb, " directed Andrews, pausing beside amarble structure of Grecian lines and pulling out a duplicate keyof a new lock which had been placed on the heavy door of gratediron. As we entered, it was with a shudder at the damp odour ofdecay. Kennedy had brought his little electric bull's-eye, and, ashe flashed it about, we could see at a glance that the reports hadnot been exaggerated. Everything showed marks of a struggle. Someof the ornaments had been broken, and the coffin itself had beenforced open. 

"I have had things kept just as we found them, " explained Andrews. 

Kennedy peered into the broken coffin long and attentively. With alittle effort I, too, followed the course of the circle of light. The body was, as Andrews had said, in an excellent, indeed aperfect, state of preservation. There were, strange to say, nomarks of decay. 

"Strange, very strange, " muttered Kennedy to himself. 

"Could it have been some medical students, body-snatchers?" Iasked musingly. "Or was it simply a piece of vandalism? I wonderif there could have been any jewels buried with him, asShaughnessy said? That would make the motive plain robbery. "

"There were no jewels, " said Andrews, his mind not on the firstpart of my question, but watching Kennedy intently. 

Craig had dropped on his knees on the damp, mildewed floor, andbringing his bull's-eye close to the stones, was examining somespots here and there. 

"There could not have been any substitution?" I whispered, with, my mind still on the broken coffin. "That would cover up theevidence of a poisoning, you know. "

"No, " replied Andrews positively, "although bodies can be obtainedcheaply enough from a morgue, ostensibly for medical purposes. No, that is Phelps, all right. "

"Well, then, " I persisted, "body-snatchers, medical students?"

"Not likely, for the same reason, " he rejected. 

We bent over closer to watch Kennedy. Apparently he had found anumber of round, flat spots with little spatters beside them. Hewas carefully trying to scrape them up with as little of thesurrounding mould as possible. 

Suddenly, without warning, there was a noise outside, as if aperson were moving through the underbrush. It was fearsome in itssuddenness. Was it human or wraith? Kennedy darted to the door intime to see a shadow glide silently away, lost in the darkness ofthe fine old willows. Some one had approached the mausoleum for asecond time, not knowing we were there, and had escaped. Down theroad we could hear the purr of an almost silent motor. 

"Somebody is trying to get in to conceal something here, " mutteredKennedy, stifling his disappointment at not getting a closer viewof the intruder. 

"Then it was not a suicide, " I exclaimed. "It was a murder!"

Craig shook his head sententiously. Evidently he not prepared yetto talk. 

With another look at the body in the broken casket he remarked:"To-morrow I want to call on Mrs. Phelps and Doctor Forden, and, if it is possible to find him, Dana Phelps. Meanwhile, Andrews, ifyou and Walter will stand guard here, there is an apparatus whichI should like to get from my laboratory and set up here before itis too late. "

It was far past the witching hour of midnight, when graveyardsproverbially yawn, before Craig returned in the car. Nothing hadhappened in the meantime except those usual eery noises that onemay hear in the country at night anywhere. Our visitor of theearly evening seemed to have been scared away for good. 

Inside the mausoleum, Kennedy set up a peculiar machine which heattached to the electric-light circuit in the street by a longwire which he ran loosely over the ground. Part of the apparatusconsisted of an elongated box lined with lead, to which wereseveral other attachments, the nature of which I did notunderstand, and a crank-handle. 

"What's that?" asked Andrews curiously, as Craig set up a screenbetween the apparatus and the body. 

"This is a calcium-tungsten screen, " remarked Kennedy, adjustingnow what I know to be a Crookes' tube on the other side of thebody itself, so that the order was: the tube, the body, thescreen, and the oblong box. Without a further word we continued towatch him. 

At last, the apparatus adjusted apparently to his satisfaction, hebrought out a jar of thick white liquid and a bottle of powder. 

"Buttermilk and a couple of ounces of bismuth sub-carbonate, " heremarked, as he mixed some in a glass, and with a pump forced itdown the throat of the body, now lying so that the abdomen wasalmost flat against the screen. 

He turned a switch and the peculiar bluish effulgence, whichalways appears when a Crookes' tube is being used, burst forth, accompanied by the droning of his induction-coil and the welcomesmell of ozone produced by the electrical discharge in the almostfetid air of the tomb. Meanwhile, he was gradually turning thehandle of the crank attached to the oblong box. He seemed soengrossed in the delicateness of the operation that we did notquestion him, in fact did not move. For Andrews, at least, it wasenough to know that he had succeeded in enlisting Kennedy'sservices. 

Well along toward morning it was before Kennedy had concluded histests, whatever they were, and had packed away his paraphernalia. 

"I'm afraid it will take me two or three days to get at thisevidence, even now, " he remarked, impatient at even thelimitations science put on his activity. We had started back for aquick run to the city and rest. "But, anyhow, it will give us achance to do some investigating along other lines. "

Early the next day, in spite of the late session of the nightbefore, Kennedy started me with him on a second visit to Woodbine. This time he was armed with a letter of introduction from Andrewsto Mrs. Phelps. 

She proved to be a young woman of most extraordinary grace andbeauty, with a superb carriage such as only years of closesttraining under the best dancers of the world could give. There wasa peculiar velvety softness about her flesh and skin, a witchingstoop to her shoulders that was decidedly continental, and in herdeep, soulful eyes a half-wistful look that was most alluring. Infact, she was as attractive a widow as the best Fifth Avenuedealers in mourning goods could have produced. 

I knew that 'Ginette Phelps had been, both as dancer and wife, always the centre of a group of actors, artists, and men ofletters as well as of the world and affairs. The Phelpses hadlived well, although they were not extremely wealthy, as fortunesgo. When the blow fell, I could well fancy that the loss of hismoney had been most serious to young Montague, who had showeredeverything as lavishly as he was able upon his captivating bride. 

Mrs. Phelps did not seem to be overjoyed at receiving us, yet madeno open effort to refuse. 

"How long ago did the coma first show itself?" asked Kennedy, after our introductions were completed. "Was your husband a man ofneurotic tendency, as far as you could judge?"

"Oh, I couldn't say when it began, " she answered, in a voice thatwas soft and musical and under perfect control. "The doctor wouldknow that better. No, he was not neurotic, I think. "

"Did you ever see Mr. Phelps take any drugs--not habitually, butjust before this sleep came on?"

Kennedy was seeking his information in a manner and tone thatwould cause as little offence as possible "Oh, no, " she hastened. "No, never--absolutely. "

"You called in Dr. Forden the last night?"

"Yes, he had been Montague's physician many years ago, you know. "

"I see, " remarked Kennedy, who was thrusting about aimlessly toget her off her guard. "By the way, you know there is a great dealof gossip about the almost perfect state of preservation of thebody, Mrs. Phelps. I see it was not embalmed. "

She bit her lip and looked at Kennedy sharply. 

"Why, why do you and Mr. Andrews worry me? Can't you see DoctorForden?"

In her annoyance I fancied that there was a surprising lack ofsorrow. She seemed preoccupied. I could not escape the feelingthat she was putting some obstacle in our way, or that from theday of the discovery of the vandalism, some one had been making aneffort to keep the real facts concealed. Was she shielding someone? It flashed over me that perhaps, after all, she had submittedto the blackmail and had buried the money at the appointed place. There seemed to be little use in pursuing the inquiry, so weexcused ourselves, much, I thought, to her relief. 

We found Doctor Forden, who lived on the same street as thePhelpses several squares away, most fortunately at home. Fordenwas an extremely interesting man, as is, indeed, the rule withphysicians. I could not but fancy, however, that his heartyassurance that he would be glad to talk freely on the case wassomewhat forced. 

"You were sent for by Mrs. Phelps, that last night, I believe, while Phelps was still alive?" asked Kennedy. 

"Yes. During the day it had been impossible to arouse him, andthat night, when Mrs. Phelps and the nurse found him sinking evendeeper into the comatose state, I was summoned again. He wasbeyond hope then. I did everything I could, but he died a fewmoments after I arrived. "

"Did you try artificial respiration?" asked Kennedy. 

"N-no, " replied Forden. "I telephoned here for my respirator, butby the time it arrived at the house it was too late. Nothing hadbeen omitted while he was still struggling with the spark of life. When that went out what was the use?"

"You were his personal physician?"

"Yes. "

"Had you ever noticed that he took any drug?"

Doctor Forden shot a quick glance at Kennedy. "Of course not. Hewas not a drug fiend. "

"I didn't mean that he was addicted to any drug. But had he takenanything lately, either of his own volition or with the advice orknowledge of any one else?"

"Of course not. "

"There's another strange thing I wish to ask your opinion about, "pursued Kennedy, not to be rebuffed. "I have seen his body. It isin an excellent state of preservation, almost lifelike. And yet Iunderstand, or at least it seems, that it was not embalmed. "

"You'll have to ask the undertaker about that, " answered thedoctor brusquely. 

It was evident that he was getting more and more constrained inhis answers. Kennedy did not seem to mind it, but to me it seemedthat he must be hiding something. Was there some secret whichmedical ethics kept locked in his breast? Kennedy had risen andexcused himself. 

The interviews had not resulted in much, I felt, yet Kennedy didnot seem to care. Back in the city again, he buried himself in hislaboratory for the rest of the day, most of the time in his darkroom, where he was developing photographic plates or films, I didnot know which. 

During the afternoon Andrews dropped in for a few moments toreport that he had nothing to add to what had already developed. He was not much impressed by the interviews. 

"There's just one thing I want to speak about, though, " he said atlength, unburdening his mind. "That tomb and the swamp, too, oughtto be watched. Last night showed me that there seems to be aregular nocturnal visitor and that we cannot depend on that townnight watchman to scare him off. Yet if we watch up there, he willbe warned and will lie low. How can we watch both places at onceand yet remain hidden?"

Kennedy nodded approval of the suggestion. "I'll fix that, " hereplied, anxious to return to his photographic labours. "Meet me, both of you, on the road from the station at Woodbine, just as itis getting dusk. " Without another word he disappeared into thedark room. 

We met him that night as he had requested. He had come up toWoodbine in the baggage-car of the train with a powerful dog, forall the world like a huge, grey wolf. 

"Down, Schaef, " he ordered, as the dog began to show an uncannyinterest in me. "Let me introduce my new dog-detective, " hechuckled. "She has a wonderful record as a police-dog. "

We were making our way now through the thickening shadows of thetown to the outskirts. "She's a German sheep-dog, a Schaferhund, "he explained. "For my part, it is the English bloodhound in theopen country and the sheep-dog in the city and the suburbs. "

Schaef seemed to have many of the characteristics of the wild, prehistoric animal, among them the full, upright ears of the wilddog which are such a great help to it. She was a fine, alert, upstanding dog, hardy, fierce, and literally untiring, of a tawnylight brown like a lioness, about the same size and somewhat ofthe type of the smooth-coated collie, broad of chest and with afull brush of tail. 

Untamed though she seemed, she was perfectly under Kennedy'scontrol, and rendered him absolute and unreasoning obedience. 

At the cemetery we established a strict watch about the Phelpsmausoleum and the swamp which lay across the road, not a difficultthing to do as far as concealment went, owing to the foliage. Still, for the same reason, it was hard to cover the whole ground. In the shadow of a thicket we waited. Now and then we could hearSchaef scouting about in the underbrush, crouching and hiding, watching and guarding. 

As the hours of waiting in the heavily laden night air wore on, Iwondered whether our vigil in this weird place would be rewarded. The soughing of the night wind in the evergreens, mournful atbest, was doubly so now. Hour after hour we waited patiently. 

At last there was a slight noise from the direction opposite themausoleum and toward the swamp next to the cemetery. 

Kennedy reached out and drew us back into the shadow deeper. "Someone is prowling about, approaching the mausoleum on that side, Ithink, " he whispered. 

Instantly there recurred to me the thought I had had earlier inthe day that perhaps, after all, the five thousand dollars of hushmoney, for whatever purpose it might be extorted, had been buriedin the swamp by Mrs. Phelps in her anxiety. Had that been what shewas concealing? Perhaps the blackmailer had come to reconnoitre, and, if the money was there, to take it away. 

Schaef, who had been near us, was sniffing eagerly. From ourhiding-place we could just see her. She had heard the sounds, too, even before we had, and for an instant stood with every muscletense. 

Then, like an arrow, she darted into the underbrush. An instantlater, the sharp crack of a revolver rang out. Schaef kept righton, never stopping a second, except, perhaps, for surprise. 

"Crack!" almost in her face came a second spit of fire in thedarkness, and a bullet crashed through the leaves and burieditself in a tree with a ping. The intruder's marksmanship waspoor, but the dog paid no attention to it. 

"One of the few animals that show no fear of gunfire, " mutteredKennedy, in undisguised admiration. 

"G-R-R-R, " we heard from the police-dog. 

"She has made a leap at the hand that holds the gun, " criedKennedy, now rising and moving rapidly in the same direction. "Shehas been taught that a man once badly bitten in the hand is nearlyout of the fight. "

We followed, too. As we approached we were just in time to seeSchaef running in and out between the legs of a man who had heardus approach and was hastily making tracks for the road. As hetripped, she lunged for his back. 

Kennedy blew shrilly on a police whistle. Reluctantly, Schaef letgo. One could see that with all her canine instinct she wanted to"get" that man. Her jaws were open, as, with longing eyes, shestood over the prostrate form in the grass. The whistle was asignal, and she had been taught to obey unquestioningly. 

"Don't move until we get to you, or you are a dead man, " shoutedKennedy, pulling an automatic as he ran. "Are you hurt?"

There was no answer, but as we approached, the man moved, ever solittle, through curiosity to see his pursuers. 

Schaef shot forward. Again the whistle sounded and she droppedback. We bent over to seize him as Kennedy secured the dog. 

"She's a devil, " ground out the prone figure on the grass. 

"Dana Phelps!" exclaimed Andrews, as the man turned his facetoward us. "What are you doing, mixed up in this?"

Suddenly there was a movement in the rear, toward the mausoleumitself. We turned, but it was too late. Two dark figures slunkthrough the gloom, bearing something between them. Kennedy slippedthe leash off Schaef and she shot out like a unchained bolt oflightning. 

There was the whir of a high-powered machine which must havesneaked up with the muffler on during the excitement. They hadtaken a desperate chance and had succeeded. They were gone!

XXII

THE X-RAY "MOVIES"

Still holding Dana Phelps between us, we hurried toward the tomband entered. While our attention had been diverted in thedirection of the swamp, the body of Montague Phelps had beenstolen. 

Dana Phelps was still deliberately brushing off his clothes. Hadhe been in league with them, executing a flank movement to divertour attention? Or had it all been pure chance?

"Well?" demanded Andrews. 

"Well?" replied Dana. 

Kennedy said nothing, and I felt that, with our capture, themystery seemed to have deepened rather than cleared. 

As Andrews and Phelps faced each other, I noticed that the latterwas now and then endeavouring to cover his wrist, where the doghad torn his coat sleeve. 

"Are you hurt badly?" inquired Kennedy. 

Dana said nothing, but backed away. Kennedy advanced, insisting onlooking at the wounds. As he looked he disclosed a semicircle ofmarks. 

"Not a dog bite, " he whispered, turning to me and fumbling in hispocket. "Besides, those marks are a couple of days old. They havescabs on them. "

He had pulled out a pencil and a piece of paper, and, unknown toPhelps, was writing in the darkness. I leaned over. Near thepoint, in the tube through which the point for writing was, protruded a small accumulator and tiny electric lamp which threw alittle disc of light, so small that it could be hidden by thehand, yet quite sufficient to guide Craig in moving the point ofhis pencil for the proper formation of whatever he was recordingon the surface of the paper. 

"An electric-light pencil, " he remarked laconically, in anundertone. 

"Who were the others?" demanded Andrews of Dana. 

There was a pause as though he were debating whether or not toanswer at all. "I don't know, " he said at length. "I wish I did. "

"You don't know?" queried Andrews, with incredulity. 

"No, I say I wish I did know. You and your dog interrupted me justas I was about to find out, too. "

We looked at each other in amazement. Andrews was franklyskeptical of the coolness of the young man. Kennedy said nothingfor some moments. 

"I see you don't want to talk, " he put in shortly. 

"Nothing to talk about, " grunted Dana, in disgust. 

"Then why are you here?"

"Nothing but conjecture. No facts, only suspicions, " said Dana, half to himself. 

"You expect us to believe that?" insinuated Andrews. 

"I can't help what you believe. That is the fact. "

"And you were not with them?"

"No. "

"You'll be within call, if we let you go now, any time that wewant you?" interrupted Kennedy, much to the surprise of Andrews. 

"I shall stay in Woodbine as long as there is any hope of clearingup this case. If you want me, I suppose I shall have to stayanyhow, even if there is a clue somewhere else. "

"I'll take your word for it, " offered Kennedy. 

"I'll give it. "

I must say that I rather liked the young chap, although I couldmake nothing out of him. 

As Dana Phelps disappeared down the road, Andrews turned toKennedy. "What did you do that for?" he asked, half critically. 

"Because we can watch him, anyway, " answered Craig, with asignificant glance at the now empty casket. "Have him shadowed, Andrews. It may lead to something and it may not. But in any casedon't let him get out of reach. "

"Here we are in a worse mystery than ever, " grumbled Andrews. "Wehave caught a prisoner, but the body is gone, and we can't evenshow that he was an accomplice. "

"What were you writing?" I asked Craig, endeavouring to change thesubject to one more promising. 

"Just copying the peculiar shape of those marks on Phelps' arm. Perhaps we can improve on the finger-print method ofidentification. Those were the marks of human teeth. "

He was glancing casually at his sketch as he displayed it to us. Iwondered whether he really expected to obtain proof of theidentity of at least one of the ghouls by the tooth-marks. 

"It shows eight teeth, one of them decayed, " he remarked. "By theway, there's no use watching here any longer. I have some morework to do in the laboratory which will keep me another day. To-morrow night I shall be ready. Andrews, in the mean time I leavethe shadowing of Dana to you, and with the help of Jameson I wantyou to arrange to have all those connected with the case at mylaboratory to-morrow night without fail. "

Andrews and I had to do some clever scheming to bring pressure tobear on the various persons interested to insure their attendance, now that Craig was ready to act. Of course there was no difficultyin getting Dana Phelps. Andrews's shadows reported nothing in hisactions of the following day that indicated anything. Mrs. Phelpscame down to town by train and Doctor Forden motored in. Andrewseven took the precaution to secure Shaughnessy and the trainednurse, Miss Tracy, who had been with Montague Phelps during hisillness but had not contributed anything toward untangling thecase. Andrews and myself completed the little audience. 

We found Kennedy heating a large mass of some composition such asdentists use in taking impressions of the teeth. 

"I shall be ready in a moment, " he excused himself, still bendingover his Bunsen flame. "By the way, Mr. Phelps, if you will permitme. "

He had detached a wad of the softened material. Phelps, taken bysurprise, allowed him to make an impression of his teeth, almostbefore he realised what Kennedy was doing. The precedent set, soto speak, Kennedy approached Doctor Forden. He demurred, butfinally consented. Mrs. Phelps followed, then the nurse, and evenShaughnessy. 

With a quick glance at each impression, Kennedy laid them aside toharden. 

"I am ready to begin, " he remarked at length, turning to apeculiar looking instrument, something like three telescopespointing at a centre in which was a series of glass prisms. 

"These five senses of ours are pretty dull detectives sometimes, "Kennedy began. "But I find that when we are able to call inoutside aid we usually find that there are no more mysteries. "

He placed something in a test-tube in line before one of thebarrels of the telescopes, near a brilliant electric light. 

"What do you see, Walter?" he asked, indicating an eyepiece. 

I looked. "A series of lines, " I replied. "What is it?"

"That, " he explained, "is a spectroscope, and those are the linesof the absorption spectrum. Each of those lines, by its presence, denotes a different substance. Now, on the pavement of the Phelpsmausoleum I found, you will recall, some roundish spots. I havemade a very diluted solution of them which is placed in this tube. 

"The applicability of the spectroscope to the differentiation ofvarious substances is too well known to need explanation. Itsvalue lies in the exact nature of the evidence furnished. Even thevery dilute solution which I have been able to make of thematerial scraped from these spots gives characteristic absorptionbands between the D and E lines, as they are called. Their wave-lengths are between 5774 and 5390. It is such a distinctabsorption spectrum that it is possible to determine withcertainty that the fluid actually contains a certain substance, even though the microscope might fail to give sure proof. Blood--human blood--that was what those stains were. "

He paused. "The spectra of the blood pigments, " he added, "of theextremely minute quantities of blood and the decompositionproducts of hemoglobin in the blood are here infallibly shown, varying very distinctly with the chemical changes which thepigments may undergo. "

Whose blood was it? I asked myself. Was it of some one who hadvisited the tomb, who was surprised there or surprised some oneelse there? I was hardly ready for Kennedy's quick remark. 

"There were two kinds of blood there. One was contained in thespots on the floor all about the mausoleum. There are marks on thearm of Dana Phelps which he probably might say were made by theteeth of my police-dog, Schaef. They are human tooth-marks, however. He was bitten by some one in a struggle. It was his bloodon the floor of the mausoleum. Whose were the teeth?"

Kennedy fingered the now set impressions, then resumed: "Before Ianswer that question, what else does the spectroscope show? Ifound some spots near the coffin, which has been broken open by aheavy object. It had slipped and had injured the body of MontaguePhelps. From the injury some drops had oozed. My spectroscopetells me that that, too, is blood. The blood and other muscularand nervous fluids of the body had remained in an aqueouscondition instead of becoming pectous. That is a remarkablecircumstance. "

It flashed over me what Kennedy had been driving at in his inquiryregarding embalming. If the poisons of the embalming fluid had notbeen injected, he had now clear proof regarding anything hisspectroscope discovered. 

"I had expected to find a poison, perhaps an alkaloid, " hecontinued slowly, as he outlined his discoveries by the use of oneof the most fascinating branches of modern science, spectroscopy. "In cases of poisoning by these substances, the spectroscope oftenhas obvious advantages over chemical methods, for minute amountswill produce a well-defined spectrum. The spectroscope 'spots' thesubstance, to use a police idiom, the moment the case is turnedover to it. There was no poison there. " He had raised his voice toemphasise the startling revelation. "Instead, I found anextraordinary amount of the substance and products of glycogen. The liver, where this substance is stored, is literally surchargedin the body of Phelps. "

He had started his moving-picture machine. 

"Here I have one of the latest developments in the moving-pictureart, " he resumed, "an X-ray moving picture, a feat which was untilrecently visionary, a science now in its infancy, bearing theformidable names of biorontgenography, or kinematoradiography. "

Kennedy was holding his little audience breathless as heproceeded. I fancied I could see Anginette Phelps give a littleshudder at the prospect of looking into the very interior of ahuman body. But she was pale with the fascination of it. NeitherForden nor the nurse looked to the right or to the left. DanaPhelps was open-eyed with wonder. 

"In one X-ray photograph, or even in several, " continued Kennedy, "it is difficult to discover slight motions. Not so in a movingpicture. For instance, here I have a picture which will show you aliving body in all its moving details. "

On the screen before us was projected a huge shadowgraph of achest and abdomen. We could see the vertebrae of the spinalcolumn, the ribs, and the various organs. 

"It is difficult to get a series of photographs directly from afluorescent screen, " Kennedy went on. "I overcome the difficultyby having lenses of sufficient rapidity to photograph even faintimages on that screen. It is better than the so-called serialmethod, by which a number of separate X-ray pictures are taken andthen pieced together and rephotographed to make the film. I canfocus the X-rays first on the screen by means of a special quartzobjective which I have devised. Then I take the pictures. 

"Here, you see, are the lungs in slow or rapid respiration. Thereis the rhythmically beating heart, distinctly pulsating in perfectoutline. There is the liver, moving up and down with thediaphragm, the intestines, and the stomach. You can see the bonesmoving with the limbs, as well as the inner visceral life. Allthat is hidden to the eye by the flesh is now made visible instriking manner. "

Never have I seen an audience at the "movies" so thrilled as wewere now, as Kennedy swayed our interest at his will. I had beendividing my attention between Kennedy and the extraordinary beautyof the famous Russian dancer. I forgot Anginette Phelps entirely. 

Kennedy placed another film in the holder. 

"You are now looking into the body of Montague Phelps, " heannounced suddenly. 

We leaned forward eagerly. Mrs. Phelps gave a half-suppressedgasp. What was the secret hidden in it?

There was the stomach, a curved sack something like a bagpipe or abadly made boot, with a tiny canal at the toe connecting it withthe small intestine. There were the heart and lungs. 

"I have rendered the stomach visible, " resumed Kennedy, "made it'metallic, ' so to speak, by injecting a solution of bismuth inbuttermilk, the usual method, by which it becomes more imperviousto the X-rays and hence darker in the skiagraph. I took thesepictures not at the rate of fourteen or so a second, like theothers, but at intervals of a few seconds. I did that so that, when I run them off, I get a sort of compressed moving picture. What you see in a short space of time actually took much longer tooccur. I could have either kind of picture, but I prefer thelatter. 

"For, you will take notice that there is movement here--of theheart, of the lungs, of the stomach--faint, imperceptible underordinary circumstances, but nevertheless, movement. "

He was pointing at the lungs. "A single peristaltic contractiontakes place normally in a very few seconds. Here it takes minutes. And the stomach. Notice what the bismuth mixture shows. There is avery slow series of regular wave-contractions from the fundus tothe pylorus. Ordinarily one wave takes ten seconds to traverse it;here it is so slow as almost to be unnoticed. "

What was the implication of his startling, almost gruesome, discovery? I saw it clearly, yet hung on his words, afraid toadmit even to myself the logical interpretation of what I saw. 

"Reconstruct the case, " continued Craig excitedly. "Mr. Phelps, always a bon vivant and now so situated by marriage that he mustbe so, comes back to America to find his personal fortune--gone. 

"What was left? He did as many have done. He took out a new largepolicy on his life. How was he to profit by it? Others havecommitted suicide, have died to win. Cases are common now wheremen have ended their lives under such circumstances by swallowingbichloride-of-mercury tablets, a favourite method, it seems, lately. 

"But Phelps did not want to die to win. Life was too sweet to him. He had another scheme. " Kennedy dropped his voice. 

"One of the most fascinating problems in speculation as to thefuture of the race under the influence of science is that ofsuspended animation. The usual attitude is one of reserve orscepticism. There is no necessity for it. Records exist of caseswhere vital functions have been practically suspended, with nofood and little air. Every day science is getting closer to thecontrol of metabolism. In the trance the body functions are soslowed as to simulate death. You have heard of the Indian fakirswho bury themselves alive and are dug up days later? You havedoubted it. But there is nothing improbable in it. 

"Experiments have been made with toads which have been imprisonedin porous rock where they could get the necessary air. They havelived for months in a stupor. In impervious rock they have died. Frozen fish can revive; bears and other animals hibernate. Thereare all gradations from ordinary sleep to the torpor of death. Science can slow down almost to a standstill the vital processesso that excretions disappear and respiration and heart-beat arealmost nil. 

"What the Indian fakir does in a cataleptic condition may beduplicated. It is not incredible that they may possess somevegetable extract by which they perform their as yet unexplainedfeats of prolonged living burial. For, if an animal free fromdisease is subjected to the action of some chemical and physicalagencies which have the property of reducing to the extreme limitthe motor forces and nervous stimulus, the body of even a warm-blooded animal may be brought down to a condition so closelyresembling death that the most careful examination may fail todetect any signs of life. The heart will continue workingregularly at low tension, supplying muscles and other parts withsufficient blood to sustain molecular life, and the stomach wouldnaturally react to artificial stimulus. At any time beforedecomposition of tissue has set in, the heart might be made toresume its work and life come back. 

"Phelps had travelled extensively. In Siberia he must undoubtedlyhave heard of the Buriats, a tribe of natives who hibernate, almost like the animals, during the winters, succumbing to a longsleep known as the 'leshka. ' He must have heard of the experimentsof Professor Bakhmetieff, who studied the Buriats and found thatthey subsisted on foods rich in glycogen, a substance in the liverwhich science has discovered makes possible life during suspendedanimation. He must have heard of 'anabiose, ' as the famous Russiancalls it, by which consciousness can be totally removed andrespiration and digestion cease almost completely. "

"But--the body--is gone!" some one interrupted. I turned. It wasDana Phelps, now leaning forward in wide-eyed excitement. 

"Yes, " exclaimed Craig. "Time was passing rapidly. The insurancehad not been paid. He had expected to be revived and to disappearwith Anginette Phelps long before this. Should the confederates ofPhelps wait? They did not dare. To wait longer might be tosacrifice him, if indeed they had not taken a long chance already. Besides, you yourself had your suspicions and had written theinsurance company hinting at murder. "

Dana nodded, involuntarily confessing. 

"You were watching them, as well as the insurance investigator, Mr. Andrews. It was an awful dilemma. What was to be done? He mustbe resuscitated at any risk. 

"Ah--an idea! Rifle the grave--that was the way to solve it. Thatwould still leave it possible to collect the insurance, too. Theblackmail letter about the five thousand dollars was only a blind, to lay on the mythical Black Hand the blame for the desecration. Brought into light, humidity, and warmth, the body would recoverconsciousness and the life-functions resume their normal stateafter the anabiotic coma into which Phelps had drugged himself. 

"But the very first night the supposed ghouls were discovered. Dana Phelps, already suspicious regarding the death of hisbrother, wondering at the lack of sentiment which Mrs. Phelpsshowed, since she felt that her husband was not really dead--Danawas there. His suspicions were confirmed, he thought. Montague hadbeen, in reality, murdered, and his murderers were now making awaywith the evidence. He fought with the ghouls, yet apparently, inthe darkness, he did not discover their identity. The struggle wasbitter, but they were two to one. Dana was bitten by one of them. Here are the marks of teeth--teeth--of a woman. "

Anginette Phelps was sobbing convulsively. She had risen and wasfacing Doctor Forden with outstretched hands. 

"Tell them!" she cried wildly. 

Forden seemed to have maintained his composure only by asuperhuman effort. 

"The--body is--at my office, " he said, as we faced him withdeathlike stillness. "Phelps had told us to get him within tendays. We did get him, finally. Gentlemen, you, who were seekingmurderers, are, in effect, murderers. You kept us away two daystoo long. It was too late. We could not revive him. Phelps isreally dead!"

"The deuce!" exclaimed Andrews, "the policy is incontestible!"

As he turned to us in disgust, his eyes fell on Anginette Phelps, sobered down by the terrible tragedy and nearly a physical wreckfrom real grief. 

"Still, " he added hastily, "we'll pay without a protest. "

She did not even hear him. It seemed that the butterfly in her wascrushed, as Dr. Forden and Miss Tracy gently led her away. 

They had all left, and the laboratory was again in its normalstate of silence, except for the occasional step of Kennedy as hestowed away the apparatus he had used. 

"I must say that I was one of the most surprised in the room atthe outcome of that case, " I confessed at length. "I fullyexpected an arrest. "

He said nothing, but went on methodically restoring his apparatusto its proper place. 

"What a peculiar life you lead, Craig, " I pursued reflectively. "One day it is a case that ends with such a bright spot in ourlives as the recollection of the Shirleys; the next goes to theother extreme of gruesomeness and one can hardly think about itwithout a shudder. And then, through it all, you go with the highspeed power of a racing motor. "

"That last case appealed to me, like many others, " he ruminated, "just because it was so unusual, so gruesome, as you call it. "

He reached into the pocket of his coat, hung over the back of achair. 

"Now, here's another most unusual case, apparently. It begins, really, at the other end, so to speak, with the conviction, beginsat the very place where we detectives send a man as the last actof our little dramas. "

"What?" I gasped, "another case before even this one is fairlycleaned up? Craig--you are impossible. You get worse instead ofbetter. "

"Read it, " he said, simply. Kennedy handed me a letter in theangular hand affected by many women. It was dated at Sing Sing, orrather Ossining. Craig seemed to appreciate the surprise which myface must have betrayed at the curious combination ofcircumstances. 

"Nearly always there is the wife or mother of a condemned man wholives in the shadow of the prison, " he remarked quietly, adding, "where she can look down at the grim walls, hoping and fearing. "

I said nothing, for the letter spoke for itself. 

I have read of your success as a scientific detective and hopethat you will pardon me for writing to you, but it is a matter oflife or death for one who is dearer to me than all the world. 

Perhaps you recall reading of the trial and conviction of myhusband, Sanford Godwin, at East Point. The case did not attractmuch attention in New York papers, although he was defended by anable lawyer from the city. 

Since the trial, I have taken up my residence here in Ossining inorder to be near him. As I write I can see the cold, grey walls ofthe state prison that holds all that is dear to me. Day after day, I have watched and waited, hoped against hope. The courts are soslow, and lawyers are so technical. There have been executionssince I came here, too--and I shudder at them. Will this appeal bedenied, also?

My husband was accused of murdering by poison--hemlock, theyalleged--his adoptive parent, the retired merchant, Parker Godwin, whose family name he took when he was a boy. After the death ofthe old man, a later will was discovered in which my husband'sinheritance was reduced to a small annuity. The other heirs, theElmores, asserted, and the state made out its case on theassumption, that the new will furnished a motive for killing oldMr. Godwin, and that only by accident had it been discovered. 

Sanford is innocent. He could not have done it. It is not in himto do such a thing. I am only a woman, but about some things Iknow more than all the lawyers and scientists, and I KNOW that heis innocent. 

I cannot write all. My heart is too full. Cannot you come andadvise me? Even if you cannot take up the case to which I havedevoted my life, tell me what to do. I am enclosing a check forexpenses, all I can spare at present. 

Sincerely yours, NELLA GODWIN. 

"Are you going?" I asked, watching Kennedy as he tapped the checkthoughtfully on the desk. 

"I can hardly resist an appeal like that, " he replied, absentlyreplacing the check in the envelope with the letter. 

XXIII

THE DEATH HOUSE

In the early forenoon, we were on our way by train "up the river"to Sing Sing, where, at the station, a line of old-fashioned cabsand red-faced cabbies greeted us, for the town itself is hilly. 

The house to which we had been directed was on the hill, and fromits windows one could look down on the barracks-like pile of stonewith the evil little black-barred slits of windows, below andperhaps a quarter of a mile away. 

There was no need to be told what it was. Its very atmospherebreathed the word "prison. " Even the ugly clutter of tall-chimneyed workshops did not destroy it. Every stone, every grill, every glint of a sentry's rifle spelt "prison. "

Mrs. Godwin was a pale, slight little woman, in whose face shonean indomitable spirit, unconquered even by the slow torture of herlonely vigil. Except for such few hours that she had to engage inher simple household duties, with now and then a short walk in thecountry, she was always watching that bleak stone house ofatonement. 

Yet, though her spirit was unconquered, it needed no physician totell one that the dimming of the lights at the prison on themorning set for the execution would fill two graves instead ofone. For she had come to know that this sudden dimming of thecorridor lights, and then their almost as sudden flaring-up, had aterrible meaning, well known to the men inside. Hers was no lessan agony than that of the men in the curtained cells, since shehad learned that when the lights grow dim at dawn at Sing Sing, itmeans that the electric power has been borrowed for just thatlittle while to send a body straining against the straps of theelectric chair, snuffing out the life of a man. 

To-day she had evidently been watching in both directions, watching eagerly the carriages as they climbed the hill, as wellas in the direction of the prison. 

"How can I ever thank you, Professor Kennedy, " she greeted us atthe door, keeping back with difficulty the tears that showed howmuch it meant to have any one interest himself in her husband'scase. 

There was that gentleness about Mrs. Godwin that comes only tothose who have suffered much. 

"It has been a long fight, " she began, as we talked in her modestlittle sitting-room, into which the sun streamed brightly with nothought of the cold shadows in the grim building below. "Oh, andsuch a hard, heartbreaking fight! Often it seems as if we hadexhausted every means at our disposal, and yet we shall never giveup. Why cannot we make the world see our case as we see it?Everything seems to have conspired against us--and yet I cannot, Iwill not believe that the law and the science that have condemnedhim are the last words in law and science. "

"You said in your letter that the courts were so slow and thelawyers so--"

"Yes, so cold, so technical. They do not seem to realise that ahuman life is at stake. With them it is almost like a game inwhich we are the pawns. And sometimes I fear, in spite of what thelawyers say, that without some new evidence, it--it will go hardwith him. "

"You have not given up hope in the appeal?" asked Kennedy gently. 

"It is merely on technicalities of the law, " she replied withquiet fortitude, "that is, as nearly as I can make out from thelanguage of the papers. Our lawyer is Salo Kahn, of the big firmof criminal lawyers, Smith, Kahn

"Conine, " mused Kennedy, half to himself. I could not tell whetherhe was thinking of what he repeated or of the little woman. 

"Yes, the active principle of hemlock, " she went on. "That waswhat the experts discovered, they swore. In the pure state, Ibelieve, it is more poisonous than anything except the cyanides. And it was absolutely scientific evidence. They repeated the testsin court. There was no doubt of it. But, oh, he did not do it. Some one else did it. He did not--he could not. "

Kennedy said nothing for a few minutes, but from his tone when hedid speak it was evident that he was deeply touched. 

"Since our marriage we lived with old Mr. Godwin in the historicGodwin House at East Point, " she resumed, as he renewed hisquestioning. "Sanford--that was my husband's real last name untilhe came as a boy to work for Mr. Godwin in the office of thefactory and was adopted by his employer--Sanford and I kept housefor him. 

"About a year ago he began to grow feeble and seldom went to thefactory, which Sanford managed for him. One night Mr. Godwin wastaken suddenly ill. I don't know how long he had been ill beforewe heard him groaning, but he died almost before we could summon adoctor. There was really nothing suspicious about it, but therehad always been a great deal of jealousy of my husband in the townand especially among the few distant relatives of Mr. Godwin. Whatmust have started as an idle, gossipy rumour developed into aserious charge that my husband had hastened his old guardian'sdeath. 

"The original will--THE will, I call it--had been placed in thesafe of the factory several years ago. But when the gossip in thetown grew bitter, one day when we were out, some privatedetectives entered the house with a warrant--and they did actuallyfind a will, another will about which we knew nothing, dated laterthan the first and hidden with some papers in the back of acloset, or sort of fire proof box, built into the wall of thelibrary. The second will was identical with the first in languageexcept that its terms were reversed and instead of being theresiduary legatee, Sanford was given a comparatively smallannuity, and the Elmores were made residuary legatees instead ofannuitants. "

"And who are these Elmores?" asked Kennedy curiously. 

"There are three, two grandnephews and a grandniece, Bradford, Lambert, and their sister Miriam. "

"And they live--"

"In East Point, also. Old Mr. Godwin was not very friendly withhis sister, whose grandchildren they were. They were the onlyother heirs living, and although Sanford never had anything to dowith it, I think they always imagined that he tried to prejudicethe old man against them. "

"I shall want to see the Elmores, or at least some one whorepresents them, as well as the district attorney up there whoconducted the case. But now that I am here, I wonder if it ispossible that I could bring any influence to bear to see yourhusband?"

Mrs. Godwin sighed. 

"Once a month, " she replied, "I leave this window, walk to theprison, where the warden is very kind to me, and then I can seeSanford. Of course there are bars between us besides the regularscreen. But I can have an hour's talk, and in those talks he hasdescribed to me exactly every detail of his life in the--theprison. We have even agreed on certain hours when we think of eachother. In those hours I know almost what he is thinking. " Shepaused to collect herself. "Perhaps there may be some way if Iplead with the warden. Perhaps--you may be considered his counselnow--you may see him. "

A half hour later we sat in the big registry room of the prisonand talked with the big-hearted, big-handed warden. Every argumentthat Kennedy could summon was brought to bear. He even talked overlong distance with the lawyers in New York. At last the rules wererelaxed and Kennedy was admitted on some technicality as counsel. Counsel can see the condemned as often as necessary. 

We were conducted down a flight of steps and past huge steel-barred doors, along corridors and through the regular prison untilat last we were in what the prison officials called the sectionfor the condemned. Every one else calls this secret heart of thegrim place, the death house. 

It is made up of two rows of cells, some eighteen or twenty inall, a little more modern in construction than the twelve hundredarchaic caverns that pass for cells in the main prison. 

At each end of the corridor sat a guard, armed, with eyes neveroff the rows of cells day or night. 

In the wall, on one side, was a door--the little green door--thedoor from the death house to the death chamber. 

While Kennedy was talking to the prisoner, a guard volunteered toshow me the death chamber and the "chair. " No other furniture wasthere in the little brick house of one room except this awfulchair, of yellow oak with broad, leather straps. There it stood, the sole article in the brightly varnished room of about twenty-five feet square with walls of clean blue, this grim acolyte ofmodern scientific death. There were the wet electrodes that arefastened to the legs through slits in the trousers at the calves;above was the pipe-like fixture, like a gruesome helmet of leatherthat fits over the head, carrying the other electrode. 

Back of the condemned was the switch which lets loose a lethalstore of energy, and back of that the prison morgue where thebodies are taken. I looked about. In the wall to the left towardthe death house was also a door, on this side yellow. Somehow Icould not get from my mind the fascination of that door--thethreshold of the grave. 

Meanwhile Kennedy sat in the little cage and talked with theconvicted man across the three-foot distance between cell andscreen. I did not see him at that time, but Kennedy repeatedafterward what passed, and it so impressed me that I will set itdown as if I had been present. 

Sanford Godwin was a tall, ashen-faced man, in the prison pallorof whose face was written the determination of despair, a man inwhose blue eyes was a queer, half-insane light of hope. One knewthat if it had not been for the little woman at the window at thetop of the hill, the hope would probably long ago have faded. Butthis man knew she was always there, thinking, watching, eagerlyplanning in aid of any new scheme in the long fight for freedom. 

"The alkaloid was present, that is certain, " he told Kennedy. "Mywife has told you that. It was scientifically proved. There is nouse in attacking that. "

Later on he remarked: "Perhaps you think it strange that one inthe very shadow of the death chair"--the word stuck in his throat--"can talk so impersonally of his own case. Sometimes I think itis not my case, but some one else's. And then--that door. "

He shuddered and turned away from it. On one side was life, suchas it was; on the other, instant death. No wonder he pleaded withKennedy. 

"Why, Walter, " exclaimed Craig, as we walked back to the warden'soffice to telephone to town for a car to take us up to East Point, "whenever he looks out of that cage he sees it. He may close hiseyes--and still see it. When he exercises, he sees it. Thinking byday and dreaming by night, it is always there. Think of theterrible hours that man must pass, knowing of the little womaneating her heart out. Is he really guilty? I must find out. If heis not, I never saw a greater tragedy than this slow, remorselessapproach of death, in that daily, hourly shadow of the littlegreen door. "

East Point was a queer old town on the upper Hudson, with avarying assortment of industries. Just outside, the old house ofthe Godwins stood on a bluff overlooking the majestic river. Kennedy had wanted to see it before any one suspected his mission, and a note from Mrs. Godwin to a friend had been sufficient. 

Carefully he went over the deserted and now half-wrecked house, for the authorities had spared nothing in their search for poison, even going over the garden and the lawns in the hope of findingsome of the poisonous shrub, hemlock, which it was contended hadbeen used to put an end to Mr. Godwin. 

As yet nothing had been done to put the house in order again and, as we walked about, we noticed a pile of old tins in the yardwhich had not been removed. 

Kennedy turned them over with his stick. Then he picked one up andexamined it attentively. 

"H-m--a blown can, " he remarked. 

"Blown?" I repeated. 

"Yes. When the contents of a tin begin to deteriorate theysometimes give off gases which press out the ends of the tin. Youcan see how these ends bulge. "

Our next visit was to the district attorney, a young man, GordonKilgore, who seemed not unwilling to discuss the case frankly. 

"I want to make arrangements for disinterring the body, " explainedKennedy. "Would you fight such a move?"

"Not at all, not at all, " he answered brusquely. "Simply make thearrangements through Kahn. I shall interpose no objection. It isthe strongest, most impregnable part of the case, the discovery ofthe poison. If you can break that down you will do more than anyone else has dared to hope. But it can't be done. The proof wastoo strong. Of course it is none of my business, but I'd advisesome other point of attack. "

I must confess to a feeling of disappointment when Kennedyannounced after leaving Kilgore that, for the present, there wasnothing more to be done at East Point until Kahn had made thearrangements for reopening the grave. 

We motored back to Ossining, and Kennedy tried to be reassuring toMrs. Godwin. 

"By the way, " he remarked, just before we left, "you used a gooddeal of canned goods at the Godwin house, didn't you?"

"Yes, but not more than other people, I think, " she said. 

"Do you recall using any that were--well, perhaps not exactlyspoiled, but that had anything peculiar about them?"

"I remember once we thought we found some cans that seemed to havebeen attacked by mice--at least they smelt so, though how micecould get through a tin can we couldn't see. "

"Mice?" queried Kennedy. "Had a mousey smell? That's interesting. Well, Mrs. Godwin, keep up a good heart. Depend on me. What youhave told me to-day has made me more than interested in your case. I shall waste no time in letting you know when anythingencouraging develops. "

Craig had never had much patience with red tape that barred theway to the truth, yet there were times when law and legalprocedure had to be respected, no matter how much they hampered, and this was one of them. The next day the order was obtainedpermitting the opening again of the grave of old Mr. Godwin. Thebody was exhumed, and Kennedy set about his examination of whatsecrets it might hide. 

Meanwhile, it seemed to me that the suspense was terrible. Kennedywas moving slowly, I thought. Not even the courts themselves couldhave been more deliberate. Also, he was keeping much to himself. 

Still, for another whole day, there was the slow, inevitableapproach of the thing that now, I, too, had come to dread--thehanding down of the final decision on the appeal. 

Yet what could Craig do otherwise, I asked myself. I had becomedeeply interested in the case by this time and spent the timereading all the evidence, hundreds of pages of it. It was cold, hard, brutal, scientific fact, and as I read I felt that hopefaded for the ashen-faced man and the pallid little woman. Itseemed the last word in science. Was there any way of escape?

Impatient as I was, I often wondered what must have been thesuspense of those to whom the case meant everything. 

"How are the tests coming along?" I ventured one night, after Kahnhad arranged for the uncovering of the grave. 

It was now two days since Kennedy had gone up to East Point tosuperintend the exhumation and had returned to the city with thematerials which had caused him to keep later hours in thelaboratory than I had ever known even the indefatigable Craig tospend on a stretch before. 

He shook his head doubtfully. 

"Walter, " he admitted, "I'm afraid I have reached the limit on theline of investigation I had planned at the start. "

I looked at him in dismay. "What then?" I managed to gasp. 

"I am going up to East Point again to-morrow to look over thathouse and start a new line. You can go. "

No urging was needed, and the following day saw us again on theground. The house, as I have said, had been almost torn to piecesin the search for the will and the poison evidence. As before, wewent to it unannounced, and this time we had no difficulty ingetting in. Kennedy, who had brought with him a large package, made his way directly to a sort of drawing-room next to the largelibrary, in the closet of which the will had been discovered. 

He unwrapped the package and took from it a huge brace and bit, the bit a long, thin, murderous looking affair such as might havecome from a burglar's kit. I regarded it much in that light. 

"What's the lay?" I asked, as he tapped over the walls toascertain of just what they were composed. 

Without a word he was now down on his knees, drilling a hole inthe plaster and lath. When he struck an obstruction he stopped, removed the bit, inserted another, and began again. 

"Are you going to put in a detectaphone?" I asked again. 

He shook his head. "A detectaphone wouldn't be of any use here, "he replied. "No one is going to do any talking in that room. "

Again the brace and bit were at work. At last the wall had beenpenetrated, and he quickly removed every trace from the other sidethat would have attracted attention to a little hole in an obscurecorner of the flowered wall-paper. 

Next, he drew out what looked like a long putty-blower, perhaps afoot long and three-eighths of an inch in diameter. 

"What's that?" I asked, as he rose after carefully inserting it. 

"Look through it, " he replied simply, still at work on some otherapparatus he had brought. 

I looked. In spite of the smallness of the opening at the otherend, I was amazed to find that I could see nearly the whole roomon the other side of the wall. 

"It's a detectascope, " he explained, "a tube with a fish-eye lenswhich I had an expert optician make for me. "

"A fish-eye lens?" I repeated. 

"Yes. The focus may be altered in range so that any one in theroom may be seen and recognised and any action of his may bedetected. The original of this was devised by Gaillard Smith, theadapter of the detectaphone. The instrument is something like thecytoscope, which the doctors use to look into the human interior. Now, look through it again. Do you see the closet?"

Again I looked. "Yes, " I said, "but will one of us have to watchhere all the time?"

He had been working on a black box in the meantime, and now hebegan to set it up, adjusting it to the hole in the wall which heenlarged on our side. 

"No, that is my own improvement on it. You remember once we used aquick-shutter camera with an electric attachment, which moved theshutter on the contact of a person with an object in the room?Well, this camera has that quick shutter. But, in addition, I haveadapted to the detectascope an invention by Professor Robert Wood, of Johns Hopkins. He has devised a fish-eye camera that 'sees'over a radius of one hundred and eighty degrees--not only straightin front, but over half a circle, every point in that room. 

"You know the refracting power of a drop of water. Since it is aglobe, it refracts the light which reaches it from all directions. If it is placed like the lens of a camera, as Dr. Wood tried it, so that one-half of it catches the light, all the light caughtwill be refracted through it. Fishes, too, have a wide range ofvision. Some have eyes that see over half a circle. So the lensgets its name. Ordinary cameras, because of the flatness of theirlenses, have a range of only a few degrees, the widest in use, Ibelieve, taking in only ninety-six, or a little more than aquarter of a circle. So, you see, my detectascope has a rangealmost twice as wide as that of any other. "

Though I did not know what he expected to discover and knew thatit was useless to ask, the thing seemed very interesting. Craigdid not pause, however, to enlarge on the new machine, butgathered up his tools and announced that our next step would be avisit to a lawyer whom the Elmores had retained as their personalcounsel to look after their interests, now that the districtattorney seemed to hare cleared up the criminal end of the case. 

Hollins was one of the prominent attorneys of East Point, andbefore the election of Kilgore as prosecutor had been his partner. Unlike Kilgore, we found him especially uncommunicative andinclined to resent our presence in the case as intruders. 

The interview did not seem to me to be productive of anything. Infact, it seemed as if Craig were giving Hollins much more than hewas getting. 

"I shall be in town over night, " remarked Craig. "In fact, I amthinking of going over the library up at the Godwin house soon, very carefully. " He spoke casually. "There may be, you know, somefinger-prints on the walls around that closet which might proveinteresting. "

A quick look from Hollins was the only answer. In fact, it wasseldom that he uttered more than a monosyllable as we talked overthe various aspects of the case. 

A half-hour later, when he had left and had gone to the hotel, Iasked Kennedy suspiciously, "Why did you expose your hand toHollins, Craig?"

He laughed. "Oh, Walter, " he remonstrated, "don't you know that itis nearly always useless to look for finger-prints, except undersome circumstances, even a few days afterward? This is months, notdays. Why on iron and steel they last with tolerable certaintyonly a short time, and not much longer on silver, glass, or wood. But they are seldom permanent unless they are made with ink orblood or something that leaves a more or less indelible mark. Thatwas a 'plant. '"

"But what do you expect to gain by it?"

"Well, " he replied enigmatically, "no one is necessarily honest. "

It was late in the afternoon when Kennedy again visited the Godwinhouse and examined the camera. Without a word he pulled thedetectascope from the wall and carried the whole thing to thedeveloping-room of the local photographer. 

There he set to work on the film and I watched him in silence. Heseemed very much excited as he watched the film develop, until atlast he held it up, dripping, to the red light. 

"Some one has entered that room this afternoon and attempted towipe off the walls and woodwork of that closet, as I expected, " heexclaimed. 

"Who was it?" I asked, leaning over. 

Kennedy said nothing, but pointed to a figure on the film. I bentcloser. It was the figure of a woman. 

"Miriam!" I exclaimed in surprise. 

XXIV

THE FINAL DAY

I looked aghast at him. If it had been either Bradford or Lambert, both of whom we had come to know since Kennedy had interestedhimself in the case, or even Hollins or Kilgore, I should not havebeen surprised. But Miriam!

"How could she have any connection with the case?" I askedincredulously. 

Kennedy did not attempt to explain. "It is a fatal mistake, Walter, for a detective to assume that he knows what anybody woulddo in any given circumstances. The only safe course for him is tofind out what the persons in question did do. People are alwaysdoing the unexpected. This is a case of it, as you see. I ammerely trying to get back at facts. Come; I think we might as wellnot stay over night, after all. I should like to drop off on theway back to the city to see Mrs. Godwin. "

As we rode up the hill I was surprised to see that there was noone at the window, nor did any one seem to pay attention to ourknocking at the door. 

Kennedy turned the knob quickly and strode in. 

Seated in a chair, as white as a wraith from the grave, was Mrs. Godwin, staring straight ahead, seeing nothing, hearing nothing. 

"What's the matter?" demanded Kennedy, leaping to her side andgrasping her icy hand. 

The stare on her face seemed to change slightly as she recognisedhim. 

"Walter--some water--and a little brandy--if there is any. Tellme--what has happened?"

From her lap a yellow telegram had fluttered to the floor, butbefore he could pick it up, she gasped, "The appeal--it has beendenied. " Kennedy picked up the paper. It was a message, unsigned, but not from Kahn, as its wording and in fact the circumstancesplainly showed. 

"The execution is set for the week beginning the fifth, " shecontinued, in the same hollow, mechanical voice. "My God--that'snext Monday!"

She had risen now and was pacing the room. 

"No! I'm not going to faint. I wish I could. I wish I could cry. Iwish I could do something. Oh, those Elmores--they must have sentit. No one would have been so cruel but they. "

She stopped and gazed wildly out of the window at the prison. Neither of us knew what to say for the moment. 

"Many times from this window, " she cried, "I have seen a man walkout of that prison gate. I always watch to see what he does, though I know it is no use. If he stands in the free air, stopsshort, and looks up suddenly, taking a long look at every house--Ihope. But he always turns for a quick, backward look at the prisonand goes half running down the hill. They always stop in thatfashion, when the steel door opens outward. Yet I have alwayslooked and hoped. But I can hope no more--no more. The last chanceis gone. "

"No--not the last chance, " exclaimed Craig, springing to her sidelest she should fall. Then he added gently, "You must come with meto East Point--immediately. "

"What--leave him here--alone--in the last days? No--no--no. Never. I must see him. I wonder if they have told him yet. "

It was evident that she had lost faith in Kennedy, in everybody, now. 

"Mrs. Godwin, " he urged. "Come--you must. It is a last chance. "

Eagerly he was pouring out the story of the discovery of theafternoon by the little detectascope. 

"Miriam?" she repeated, dazed. "She--know anything--it can't be. No--don't raise a false hope now. "

"It is the last chance, " he urged again. "Come. There is not anhour to waste now. "

There was no delay, no deliberation about Kennedy now. He had beenforced out into the open by the course of events, and he meant totake advantage of every precious moment. 

Down the hill our car sped to the town, with Mrs. Godwin stillprotesting, but hardly realising what was going on. Regardless oftolls, Kennedy called up his laboratory in New York and had two ofhis most careful students pack up the stuff which he describedminutely to be carried to East Point immediately by train. Kahn, too, was at last found and summoned to meet us there also. 

Miles never seemed longer than they did to us as we tore over thecountry from Ossining to East Point, a silent party, yet keyed upby an excitement that none of us had ever felt before. 

Impatiently we awaited the arrival of the men from Kennedy'slaboratory, while we made Mrs. Godwin as comfortable as possiblein a room at the hotel. In one of the parlours Kennedy wasimprovising a laboratory as best he could. Meanwhile, Kahn hadarrived, and together we were seeking those whose connection with, or interest in, the case made necessary their presence. 

It was well along toward midnight before the hasty conference hadbeen gathered; besides Mrs. Godwin, Salo Kahn, and ourselves, thethree Elmores, Kilgore, and Hollins. 

Strange though it was, the room seemed to me almost to haveassumed the familiar look of the laboratory in New York. There wasthe same clutter of tubes and jars on the tables, but above allthat same feeling of suspense in the air which I had come toassociate with the clearing up of a case. There was something elsein the air, too. It was a peculiar mousey smell, disagreeable, andone which made it a relief to have Kennedy begin in a low voice totell why he had called us together so hastily. 

"I shall start, " announced Kennedy, "at the point where the stateleft off--with the proof that Mr. Godwin died of conine, orhemlock poisoning. Conine, as every chemist knows, has a long andwell-known history. It was the first alkaloid to be synthesised. Here is a sample, this colourless, oily fluid. No doubt you havenoticed the mousey odour in this room. As little as one part ofconine to fifty thousand of water gives off that odour--it ischaracteristic. 

"I have proceeded with extraordinary caution in my investigationof this case, " he went on. "In fact, there would have been novalue in it, otherwise, for the experts for the people seem tohave established the presence of conine in the body with absolutecertainty. "

He paused and we waited expectantly. 

"I have had the body exhumed and have repeated the tests. Thealkaloid which I discovered had given precisely the same resultsas in their tests. "

My heart sank. What was he doing--convicting the man over again?

"There is one other test which I tried, " he continued, "but whichI can not take time to duplicate tonight. It was testified at thetrial that conine, the active principle of hemlock, is intenselypoisonous. No chemical antidote is known. A fifth of a grain hasserious results; a drop is fatal. An injection of a most minutequantity of real conine will kill a mouse, for instance, almostinstantly. But the conine which I have isolated in the body isinert!"

It came like a bombshell to the prosecution, so bewildering wasthe discovery. 

"Inert?" cried Kilgore and Hollins almost together. "It can't be. You are making sport of the best chemical experts that money couldobtain. Inert? Read the evidence--read the books. "

"On the contrary, " resumed Craig, ignoring the interruption, "allthe reactions obtained by the experts have been duplicated by me. But, in addition, I tried this one test which they did not try. Irepeat: the conine isolated in the body is inert. "

We were too perplexed to question him. 

"Alkaloids, " he continued quietly, "as you know, have names thatend in 'in' or 'ine'--morphine, strychnine, and so on. Now thereare two kinds of alkaloids which are sometimes called vegetableand animal. Moreover, there is a large class of which we arelearning much which are called the ptomaines--from ptoma, acorpse. Ptomaine poisoning, as every one knows, results when weeat food that has begun to decay. 

"Ptomaines are chemical compounds of an alkaloidal nature formedin protein substances during putrefaction. They are purelychemical bodies and differ from the toxins. There are also whatare called leucomaines, formed in living tissues, and when notgiven off by the body they produce auto-intoxication. 

"There are more than three score ptomaines, and half of them arepoisonous. In fact, illness due to eating infected foods is muchmore common than is generally supposed. Often there is only onecase in a number of those eating the food, due merely to thatperson's inability to throw off the poison. Such cases aredifficult to distinguish. They are usually supposed to be gastro-enteritis. Ptomaines, as their name shows, are found in deadbodies. They are found in all dead matter after a time, whether itis decayed food or a decaying corpse. 

"No general reaction is known by which the ptomaines can bedistinguished from the vegetable alkaloids. But we know thatanimal alkaloids always develop either as a result of decay offood or of the decay of the body itself. "

At one stroke Kennedy had reopened the closed case and had placedthe experts at sea. 

"I find that there is an animal conine as well as the trueconine, " he hammered out. "The truth of this matter is that theexperts have confounded vegetable conine with cadaveric conine. That raises an interesting question. Assuming the presence ofconine, where did it come from?"

He paused and began a new line of attack. "As the use of cannedgoods becomes more and more extensive, ptomaine poisoning is morefrequent. In canning, the cans are heated. They are composed ofthin sheets of iron coated with tin, the seams pressed andsoldered with a thin line of solder. They are filled with cookedfood, sterilised, and closed. The bacteria are usually all killed, but now and then, the apparatus does not work, and they develop inthe can. That results in a 'blown can'--the ends bulge a littlebit. On opening, a gas escapes, the food has a bad odour and a badtaste. Sometimes people say that the tin and lead poison them; inpractically all cases the poisoning is of bacterial, not metallic, origin. Mr. Godwin may have died of poisoning, probably did. Butit was ptomaine poisoning. The blown cans which I have discoveredwould indicate that. "

I was following him closely, yet though this seemed to explain apart of the case, it was far from explaining all. 

"Then followed, " he hurried on, "the development of the usualptomaines in the body itself. These, I may say, had no relation tothe cause of death itself. The putrefactive germs began theirattack. Whatever there may have been in the body before, certainlythey produced a cadaveric ptomaine conine. For many animal tissuesand fluids, especially if somewhat decomposed, yield notinfrequently compounds of an oily nature with a mousey odour, fuming with hydrochloric acid and in short, acting just likeconine. There is ample evidence, I have found, that conine or asubstance possessing most, if not all, of its properties is attimes actually produced in animal tissues by decomposition. Andthe fact is, I believe, that a number of cases have arisen, inwhich the poisonous alkaloid was at first supposed to have beendiscovered which were really mistakes. "

The idea was startling in the extreme. Here was Kennedy, as itwere, overturning what had been considered the last word inscience as it had been laid down by the experts for theprosecution, opinions so impregnable that courts and juries hadnot hesitated to condemn a man to death. 

"There have been cases, " Craig went on solemnly, "and I believethis to be one, where death has been pronounced to have beencaused by wilful administration of a vegetable alkaloid, whichtoxicologists would now put down as ptomaine-poisoning cases. Innocent people have possibly already suffered and may in thefuture. But medical experts--" he laid especial stress on theword--"are much more alive to the danger of mistake than formerly. This was a case where the danger was not considered, eitherthrough carelessness, ignorance, or prejudice. 

"Indeed, ptomaines are present probably to a greater or lessextent in every organ which is submitted to the toxicologist forexamination. If he is ignorant of the nature of these substances, he may easily mistake them for vegetable alkaloids. He may reporta given poison present when it is not present. It is even yet anew line of inquiry which has only recently been followed, and theinformation is still comparatively small and inadequate. 

"It is very difficult, perhaps impossible, for the chemist tostate absolutely that he has detected true conine. Before he cando it, the symptoms and the post-mortem appearance must agree;analysis must be made before, not after, decomposition sets in, and the amount of the poison found must be sufficient toexperiment with, not merely to react to a few usual tests. 

"What the experts asserted so positively, I would not dare toassert. Was he killed by ordinary ptomaine poisoning, and hadconine, or rather its double, developed first in his food alongwith other ptomaines that were not inert? Or did the cadavericconine develop only in the body after death? Chemistry alone cannot decide the question so glibly as the experts did. Furtherproof must be sought Other sciences must come to our aid. "

I was sitting next to Mrs. Godwin. As Kennedy's words rang out, her hand, trembling with emotion, pressed my arm. I turned quicklyto see if she needed assistance. Her face was radiant. All thefees for big cases in the world could never have compensatedKennedy for the mute, unrestrained gratitude which the littlewoman shot at him. 

Kennedy saw it, and in the quick shifting of his eyes to my face, I read that he relied on me to take care of Mrs. Godwin while heplunged again into the clearing up of the mystery. 

"I have here the will--the second one, " he snapped out, turningand facing the others in the room. 

Craig turned a switch in an apparatus which his students hadbrought from New York. From a tube on the table came a peculiarbluish light. 

"This, " he explained, "is a source of ultraviolet rays. They arenot the bluish light which you see, but rays contained in it whichyou can not see. 

"Ultraviolet rays have recently been found very valuable in theexamination of questioned documents. By the use of a lens made ofquartz covered with a thin film of metallic silver, there has beendeveloped a practical means of making photographs by the invisiblerays of light above the spectrum--these ultraviolet rays. Thequartz lens is necessary, because these rays will not pass throughordinary glass, while the silver film acts as a screen to cut offthe ordinary light rays and those below the spectrum. By thismeans, most white objects are photographed black and eventransparent objects like glass are black. 

"I obtained the copy of this will, but under the condition fromthe surrogate that absolutely nothing must be done to it to changea fibre of the paper or a line of a letter. It was a difficultcondition. While there are chemicals which are frequently resortedto for testing the authenticity of disputed documents such aswills and deeds, their use frequently injures or destroys thepaper under test. So far as I could determine, the document alsodefied the microscope. 

"But ultraviolet photography does not affect the document testedin any way, and it has lately been used practically in detectingforgeries. I have photographed the last page of the will with itssignatures, and here it is. What the eye itself can not see, theinvisible light reveals. "

He was holding the document and the copy, just an instant, as ifconsidering how to announce with best effect what he haddiscovered. 

"In order to unravel this mystery, " he resumed, looking up andfacing the Elmores, Kilgore, and Hollins squarely, "I decided tofind out whether any one had had access to that closet where thewill was hidden. It was long ago, and there seemed to be littlethat I could do. I knew it was useless to look for fingerprints. 

"So I used what we detectives now call the law of suggestion. Iquestioned closely one who was in touch with all those who mighthave had such access. I hinted broadly at seeking fingerprintswhich might lead to the identity of one who had entered the houseunknown to the Godwins, and placed a document where privatedetectives would subsequently find it under suspiciouscircumstances. 

"Naturally, it would seem to one who was guilty of such an act, orknew of it, that there might, after all, be finger-prints. I triedit. I found out through this little tube, the detectascope, thatone really entered the room after that, and tried to wipe off anysupposed finger-prints that might still remain. That settled it. The second will was a forgery, and the person who entered thatroom so stealthily this afternoon knows that it is a forgery. "

As Kennedy slapped down on the table the film from his camera, which had been concealed, Mrs. Godwin turned her now large andunnaturally bright eyes and met those of the other woman in theroom. 

"Oh--oh--heaven help us--me, I mean!" cried Miriam, unable to bearthe strain of the turn of events longer. "I knew there would beretribution--I knew--I knew--"

Mrs. Godwin was on her feet in a moment. 

"Once my intuition was not wrong though all science and law wasagainst me, " she pleaded with Kennedy. There was a gentleness inher tone that fell like a soft rain on the surging passions ofthose who had wronged her so shamefully. "Professor Kennedy, Miriam could not have forged--"

Kennedy smiled. "Science was not against you, Mrs. Godwin. Ignorance was against you. And your intuition does not go contraryto science this time, either. "

It was a splendid exhibition of fine feeling which Kennedy waitedto have impressed on the Elmores, as though burning it into theirminds. 

"Miriam Elmore knew that her brothers had forged a will and hiddenit. To expose them was to convict them of a crime. She kept theirsecret, which was the secret of all three. She even tried to hidethe finger-prints which would have branded her brothers. 

"For ptomaine poisoning had unexpectedly hastened the end of oldMr. Godwin. Then gossip and the 'scientists' did the rest. It wasaccidental, but Bradford and Lambert Elmore were willing to letevents take their course and declare genuine the forgery whichthey had made so skilfully, even though it convicted an innocentman of murder and killed his faithful wife. As soon as the courtscan be set in motion to correct an error of science by the truthof later science, Sing Sing will lose one prisoner from the deathhouse and gain two forgers in his place. "

Mrs. Godwin stood before us, radiant. But as Kennedy's last wordssank into her mind, her face clouded. 

"Must--must it be an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth?" shepleaded eagerly. "Must that grim prison take in others, even if myhusband goes free?"

Kennedy looked at her long and earnestly, as if to let the beautyof her character, trained by its long suffering, impress itself onhis mind indelibly. 

He shook his head slowly. 

"I'm afraid there is no other way, Mrs. Godwin, " he said gentlytaking her arm and leaving the others to be dealt with by aconstable whom he had dozing in the hotel lobby. 

"Kahn is going up to Albany to get the pardon--there can be nodoubt about it now, " he added. "Mrs. Godwin, if you care to do so, you may stay here at the hotel, or you may go down with us on themidnight train as far as Ossining. I will wire ahead for aconveyance to meet you at the station. Mr. Jameson and I must goon to New York. "

"The nearer I am to Sanford now, the happier I shall be, " sheanswered, bravely keeping back the tears of happiness. 

The ride down to New York, after our train left Ossining, wasaccomplished in a day coach in which our fellow passengers sleptin every conceivable attitude of discomfort. 

Yet late, or rather early, as it was, we found plenty of lifestill in the great city that never sleeps. Tired, exhausted, I wasat least glad to feel that finally we were at home. 

"Craig, " I yawned, as I began to throw off my clothes, "I'm readyto sleep a week. "

There was no answer. 

I looked up at him almost resentfully. He had picked up the mailthat lay under our letter slot and was going through it as eagerlyas if the clock registered P. M. Instead of A. M. 

"Let me see, " I mumbled sleepily, checking over my notes, "howmany days have we been at it?"

I turned the pages slowly, after the manner in which my mind wasworking. 

"It was the twenty-sixth when you got that letter from Ossining, "I calculated, "and to-day makes the thirtieth. My heavens--isthere still another day of it? Is there no rest for the wicked?"

Kennedy looked up and laughed. 

He was pointing at the calendar on the desk before him. 

"There are only thirty days in the month, " he remarked slowly. 

"Thank the Lord, " I exclaimed. "I'm all in!"

He tipped his desk-chair back and bit the amber of his meerchaumcontemplatively. 

"But to-day is the first, " he drawled, turning the leaf on thecalendar with just a flicker of a smile. 

THE END